Soldier of Helios
by darthmaul90
Summary: What if the Star Wars galaxy is not far, far away but in fact our own galaxy? A companion to The Descendant, Soldier of Helios follows the adventures of Brett Hudson, an American Delta Force commando who finds himself transported across space into the heart of an Empire he doesn't know exists. How will he adapt to his new surroundings and what friends and enemies will he make?
1. Soldier of Helios, Prologue

**Soldier of Helios – Prologue**

_Galactic Core, Planet Coruscant, Imperial Palace_

_3 months after the Battle of Yavin_

What else was waiting for her? Her captors had already withheld food from her since she'd arrived here three days ago. They'd given her water, but only by meditating immediately after drinking it was she able to negate the mind numbing drugs it was laced with. And they'd made sure to shine bright lights into her cell at all times so she would suffer sleep deprivation. She'd only been lightly interrogated thus far and they hadn't yet resorted to torture but the young woman held no illusions that that wasn't coming and probably sooner as opposed to later.

No doubt this all part of an elaborate plan to break her spirit and get her to embrace the Dark Side of the Force. And perhaps if they'd caught her seventeen or eighteen years ago, they would have. She could hold out for awhile, but how long was the 64 credit question. No doubt with Darth Vader newly returned to the palace it wouldn't be long before he ordered the Inquisitors charged with breaking her to ramp up their efforts. And if he didn't, the Emperor surely would.

She sat up on her bunk and buried her face her hands. Damn it all. The stalemate on the planet of Saleucami wasn't getting any better and her mission to recruit Commander Doom to the Alliance had failed resulting in her capture. She hadn't even had the chance to meet with Doom before she'd been jumped by the Imperials. In the immediate chaos that followed, she'd been separated from Aurinia, Boil and Dawna and she hoped at least they'd been able to get away.

It had been nearly twenty years since she'd last set foot in this place. Back then it had been the main Jedi Temple… a hallowed hall of learning, wisdom and reverence. Last time she'd been here was just after she'd been knighted and enthusiastically selected her first, and as it turned out only, padawan learner. But that was before the current state of madness that gripped the galaxy. Before the Empire. Now it was nothing but a foul place of pain, fear and misery.

And now it seemed that this place that had been the ultimate shrine to the Order she'd served, was going to be her final resting place. After nearly 19 years of carefully remaining hidden, it seemed it was all going to amount to nothing. That whatever good she may have managed to do in the years since Order 66 would be erased. If Palpatine of Vader didn't turn her, they'd simply destroy her. That was fine. Death was preferable to a lifetime of corruption and violation of her beliefs. But it also meant she wouldn't live to see the Rebel Alliance break the stalemate on Saleucami, or defeat the Empire once and for all.

She snorted quietly. Correction... if the Alliance broke the stalemate on Saleucami. That had been the whole point of recruiting CommanderDoom in the first place.

Alliance strategists had placed a priority on securing the world for a variety of reasons including large segments of inhabitants that were openly hostile to the Empire and the abundance of resources on the planet the Allinace considered valuable to the war effort. They had predicted that a lightning quick strike with a small, capable force would easily overwhelm the Imperial defenders.

The initial strike had gone well and they'd easily overrun the Imperial outpost in the area. But between the outpost and the main garrison base, they quickly discovered that the Imperials had been better entrenched than Alliance intelligence had given them credit for. And with resupply missions extremely challenging and bombing missions all but impossible, what was supposed to be a fast path to victory quickly degenerated into brutal battle of trench warfare.

What had been the Imperial outpost became the Alliance's Saleucami command center and near constant calls to Alliance High Command for reinforcements had thus far, amounted to nothing. It was beyond frustrating, but fortunately the Empire also had yet to commit significant resources to the defense of the planet. The battle had been raging for weeks now and it seemed like it was going to be decided by whoever lost the fewest soldiers. Which meant that if the Alliance didn't do something to turn the tide soon, the Empire with its superior numbers and supplies would emerge victorious. And the countless lives lost by the Alliance to liberate the planet would be in vain.

Little of this mattered to Ludmilya Zaitsev at the moment however as she sat in her cell contemplating her future... a future that seemed to be extremely short in duration and / or full of pain and endless suffering if she didn't find a way out of this place.

She snorted. This place? This was no longer the Jedi Temple. This was now the Imperial Palace, the head and the heart of the twisted and tyrannical Imperial government. How the hell was she going to get out of here?

A Zeltron and a native of her species' home world, Ludmilya… or Luda as she often went by… had displayed an aptitude for the Force early on and been taken by the Jedi Order for training when she was just a she had never really been a stand out student, neither had she been a merely competent one either. She'd learned her lessons well even though she'd always struggled with the emotional nature of her species. And just before the outbreak of the Clone Wars, she'd been knighted and selected her own padawan to teach.

Luda shuddered. The Clone Wars and what had happened to the Jedi Order at the end of them was something she didn't like to think about, though she often did. The loss of so many friends, the loss of the Order itself still saddened her to the point of tears quite often. This time however, she let her mind wander to just a few years ago when she was living on Apatros as the marshal of the colony of Old Butte. Sitting in this cell awaiting whatever fate the Force decreed, she caught herself wishing she'd never left Apatros. Things had been so much simpler back then and she found herself yearning for a return to those simpler days.

_Don't think like that,_ Luda told herself. _That's when their breaking techniques are starting to get to you. _Luda couldn't help but smile wryly at that thought. After all she'd endured, it was a wonder she hadn't broken by now. But her mental fortitude was stronger than even she sometimes gave herself credit for. And while it didn't seem to her that she would ever get out of this place, she was determined that she would never become a pawn of that twisted slug, Palpatine.

Luda snorted in exasperation. The Empire had been the whole why she'd left Apatros in the first place. She'd been out chasing a group of bandits that had stolen a sizable cache of supplies from the miners that lived in Old Butte. She'd gotten the best of them and returned only to find the Empire's troops leaving and the entire colony in flames. Everyone that had lived there and their families had been slaughtered.

She'd nearly been destroyed by that emotionally. But she'd managed to pull herself together and burn the bodies on as best a pyre as she could build. She'd then gathered what few personal belongings she still had left and departed Apatros with the knowledge that she could not stand on the sidelines any longer. She was a Jedi, and like all Jedi were expected to do when necessary, she had to answer the call to war.

That had been almost two years ago and she'd been quickly indoctrinated into the Rebel Alliance. But even so, she still wasn't quite sure what her true role in the Rebellion was supposed to be. She'd been on several missions thus far, including the disastrous mission on Dalron Five, and received a couple of the less prestigious awards offered by the Alliance but none of that really mattered to her. It was unshaking feeling that within the Alliance she had no real purpose. At least that was something she'd had back on Apatros, even though it was far from the life she'd envisioned for herself years ago. Her most recent mission had her assigned to Saleucami to act as a special observer with the rest of her team.

Saleucami… what a mess that had turned into. It was like the Clone Wars all over again, only much worse. Yes, the stakes were much higher now with the Sith in control of the galaxy. Yes, she'd been a Jedi General during the Clone Wars and Force only knew how many clones had died because she'd ordered them into battle. But she'd never needlessly wasted lives like this.

It was what had led her to file the report suggesting that an immediate change in command was necessary, not to mention additional troops, armor assets and bombing runs were going to be needed if the Alliance hoped to win. Thus far it didn't seem like the Alliance was particularly swayed to commit additional assets to the fight, but at least they'd given her the go ahead to seek out a new commanding officer.

She'd gathered her small team together and embarked to find and recruit Commander Doom, a former clone commander and the commanding officer of the 442nd Siege Battalion for the entirety of the Clone Wars. Boil, himself a former clone trooper, had been the one to suggest him. Oh the irony of it.

Luda had trusted clone troopers once before and her trust had been rewarded with both her and her padawan nearly being assassinated by them. Only their tremendous skill had saved them both. Luda couldn't help but laugh slightly. It was her padawan's skill that had saved them both. Good thing he'd been a natural with the lightsaber, otherwise neither of them would've made it out of the Onderonian Throne Room alive.

But that was another time and even though it was difficult for her at first, she'd eventually recognized and accepted that, for a variety of reasons, not _every_ clone had obeyed Order 66. Boil was proof of that. So was Doomeven though she'd never met him. In the end, it did nothing but reaffirm her belief that anyone was worth redemption in the eyes of the Force... even clone troopers.

What did it matter now though? Without Commander Doom and without the Alliance's renewed commitment to the fight on Saleucami, it was going to remain the same grueling battle of attrition that it had been for the past several weeks. Only now she'd been taken prisoner.

Things had started to go bad almost from the minute they'd landed on Ord Mantell. Although the Alliance claimed the planet was free of an Imperial presence, they'd arrived to discover an entire system army had recently garrisoned in the planetary capital of Wolport. That was bad enough but things had been further complicated by the discovery that no ships were allowed to leave until "the Empire had concluded its business" in the Bright Jewel Sector.

Then came the meeting in the cantina where Imperial agents had surprised them. Luda really didn't remember much of that. Boil had shouted a warning. There'd been a flash. She'd been hit in the back of the head. And the next thing she remembered, she was lying on the floor with several armed Imperial troops standing over her.

Now that she thought about it, it seemed odd to her though that upon capture, she'd immediately been whisked off the planet. She hadn't been taken to any kind of holding cell, there hadn't been any sort of processing, nothing. She even recalled one of the troopers saying, "This one's the Jedi. Get her out of her now. The Inquisitorious will want to deal with her personally."

How the hell had they known about that? It wasn't like she advertised the fact she was a Jedi. She'd always been careful to keep her lightsaber hidden. She rarely displayed her knowledge of the Force where the general masses could see it. How then in the hell had the Imperials known she was a Jedi?

The answer to that question was easy… there was a traitor somewhere in the Alliance ranks back on Saleucami. Only the command staff there plus her team knew of her Jedi background, and she refused to believe that Boil, Aurinia or Dawna betrayed her. They'd been together for a while now and she trusted them with her life. Several times over each of them had proven her trust was not misplaced.

She laid back down on her bunk and shielded her eyes from the bright lights above her. What did it matter now how the Imperials knew? Sooner or later they'd have their way with her. And if she was lucky, she'd be dead. Not exactly the way she envisioned her life ending after 41 years. But in the end it would be a noble end for a Jedi… even a semi-retired one. It was the life she'd chosen and she'd accepted the potential consequences years ago.

Still, that didn't stop her from trying to figure out a way to escape. Even though her lightsaber had been confiscated and Force-knew where it was now, her captors had been quite careless when bringing her here. Probably because they felt it was absolutely futile for her to try and escape. But when the shuttle transporting her had arrived, she caught a brief glimpse of a Corellian YZ-775 freighter on the southeast roof landing pad. She also remembered that it was a rather plain gray in color. The fact that it was located at the palace meant that it either belonged to a high-level visiting dignitary... or someone on the Empire's Most Wanted list. If she could somehow get to that ship, assuming it was still there, she might just have a chance.

Even though the Jedi Temple had long been converted into the twisted Imperial Palace, the general layout of the structure had remained largely unchanged. And from what Luda remembered, she was being held in what had been one of the many dorm rooms that Jedi who did not reside in the Temple, but were merely "passing by" as it were, had once occupied. That meant she was somewhere on the west side of the palace where the Jedi Archives had been. But being cooped up in this tiny room for the past three days, plus with the palace being over a kilometer tall and half a kilometer wide, she couldn't localize her position any more than that.

That meant for all she knew the ship was only meters away or all the way on the other side of the palace. On top of that there was very real possibility that dozens of levels separated where she was and where that vessel was located. The only way she could find out where she was in relation to that freighter was if she was able to access a computer terminal.

That wasn't very likely. The first obvious obstacle was she had to get out of her cell. Normally that would be a relatively simple task for someone even moderately skilled in the Force as she was. But something about her cell made it act like a Universal Energy Cage. She didn't know if it was the walls, something in the walls or something else entirely but whatever it was, it was restricting her connection to the Force.

And even if she somehow got out of her cell and found a terminal, there were hundreds if not thousands of ISB agents, Imperial Army and Navy troopers, stormtroopers, palace security and Inquisitors... not to mention Darth Vader and the Emperor... crawling all over the palace. Assuming she by some Force's miracle managed to outwit all of them, she would still have to get the freighter cleared for flight, otherwise the palace defenses would shoot it down the instant she tried to take off. And then who knew how many enemy ships she'd have to avoid before being able to jump to hyperspace?

Escape just didn't seem very likely. And this far in the Galactic Core, there wouldn't be a Rebel strike team popping up out of nowhere to rescue her. Her comrades had quite likely already had something of a funeral for her and gone about the business of recruiting Commander Doom. In the day-in, day-out struggles of war, mourning the fallen was a luxury the Rebel Alliance couldn't very well afford to spend too much time doing.

For the first time, Luda began to lose hope that she would ever get out of this place. She didn't want to think about how she'd once again failed, but the thoughts forced their way into her mind. It seemed like her entire life was littered with failure. _Snap out of it,_ she commanded herself. _You've made mistakes, especially where your padawan was concerned. But you are not a failure. That's the dark side talking. Don't listen to it._

As she closed her eyes, she took comfort in the Force and in the belief that despite a near two decade separation, her padawan was still alive somewhere in the galaxy. That belief warmed her heart even if she felt like, despite her best efforts, she had ultimately failed him. So be it. If this was her destiny to die at the hands of the twisted Imperial interrogators she had yet to meet, she would do so with her head held high. She only hoped that in the long run, her death would mean something. That some historian somewhere in the galaxy at some future time would be kind to her and recognize that she'd truly done what she thought was best even if it hadn't always worked out that way. That someone would recognize that she had done her tiny little part to save the galaxy from unspeakable evil and paid the ultimate price for it.

Though she still had no idea who could've betrayed her and her small team to the Empire, the list of potential suspects was short. And right at the top of that list was Colonel Vakim, the Rebel officer in charge of the Saleucami task force. His ability to command troops was, at best, barely capable. At worst it was utterly idiotic. How many Rebel lives had he needlessly fed to the guns of Saleucami all because he lacked the vision or the knowledge... or maybe even the balls... to modify his assault strategy?

Every day was the same predictable pattern. Hundreds of Rebel troops would pour out of the trenches and rush the Imperial lines. But of course, the Imperials would be waiting and as soon as the Rebels jumped, the slaughter would start. Those that were lucky, would actually make it to the Imperial trenches but by the time they got there, they'd lost so much support, they couldn't hope to hold what they'd gained... which in reality, wasn't much.

When the Rebel attack predictably failed, it was followed almost instantly by the inevitable Imperial counter offensive, trying to take advantage of the "weakened Rebel positions". And the process would repeat itself, only this time in reverse. And if it wasn't the Rebels making the first rush to the Imperial trenches, then the Imperials would rush the Rebels first.

It tore Luda apart to see so many lives on both sides needlessly wasted because in the end, no matter who rushed who first, the end result was the same... hundreds dead on both sides for little or no change in position. Her species in general had a limited telepathic ability that was most often used to project pleasant, and sometimes even euphoric emotions, onto others. But her sensitivity to the Force only amplified that ability. And she'd used it Force only knew how many times to calm the emotions of the tired, battered and depressed soldiers on Saleucami.

Now that she'd been captured, Luda couldn't help but wonder how much longer it would be before the stress of battle got to those poor men and women in the trenches and they started to mentally break. Having suffered a near-mental break of her own in the immediate aftermath of Order 66, she figured it wouldn't be long. A break that resulted in a couple of years' worth of behavior that, while most would consider normal for her species, for her wasn't so normal. As a Jedi, Luda has always tried to hold herself to a higher standard, even if it was impossible for her to completely ignore the traits of her species.

For a member of a species that was utterly obsessed with sex, sexuality and the pursuit of pleasure, Luda had only taken two lovers in her life, both of which had been more than a decade ago. The mental and emotional portions of those relationships had never been particularly stimulating and the physical aspects completely forgettable. She'd secretly hoped for a long time that she would one day find someone truly worth the affections her species was capable of lavishing on others, but that seemed like a pipe dream now.

A noise somewhere outside her cell got her attention. She opened her eyes and looked toward the security door, straining to hear. Perhaps the food and sleep deprivation were finally getting to her. Maybe her ears were playing tricks on her?

No, there it was again. Shooting! In the Imperial Palace? Had the Rebels mounted a rescue mission after all?

Luda leaped off her bed and peered out the small window in her cell as best she could. She could barely contain her elation but she cautioned herself. How had they gotten here? How had they managed to fool all the palace security? If the Rebels were mounting a rescue mission, it was either extremely well planned or horribly ill-thought.

Whoever was shooting was close by and Luda could tell there was only one active shooter. Maybe it wasn't a Rebel rescue mission. Maybe another prisoner had managed to get free and had initiated a desperate breakout attempt. As daft as it seemed, if another prisoner had managed to break out of their cell, it could be her only chance of breaking out herself.

She then sensed a flood of something else she never expected... raw power. Force power. It was largely untrained but no question it was there. And Force, was it strong! She'd only ever encountered a handful of people in her life with a Force signature like that, one of which being that of her own padawan! Where had it come from?

Luda heard her cell bay guard fire his blaster a couple times, followed by a brief, low whistle and the sound of what seemed to be choking. The stormtrooper staggered backwards into her field of vision and fell to the floor, his armor covered in blood and a large dagger jammed in his neck.

"Shit," she head a male voice yell.

Luda shook herself out of her slight daze and realized it was now or never if she hoped to get out of this place. "Hello?" she called out. "Hello? Is someone there?" She reached through the small opening in the door. "I'm locked in here! Please help me! Get me out!"


	2. Soldier of Helios, Chapter 1

**Soldier of Helios – Chapter1**

_Planet Earth, Somewhere in Nepal_

_Summer, 2015_

Seated in the passenger seat of a Fast Attack Vehicle, Brett Hudson used his night vision goggles to survey the scene before him. Nothing much appeared to be happening at the moment but there were a couple roving sentries patrolling the camp under the watchful eye of nearly a dozen guard towers. He exhaled slowly with a bit of disdain. Why the hell couldn't the Army just call it a dune buggy? After all, that's what it basically was, even if it was armed to the teeth. It was still a dune buggy.

He put the thought out of his mind. Figuring out the sometimes bizarre way the Army named things was not his problem to unravel and there were more pressing things to worry about at the moment. There wasn't much movement on the grounds of the camp itself. Just a sentry and another individual trying to adjust a satellite dish. But the guard towers each had double occupancy and there was enough concertina wire around the camp to cut an entire battalion's worth of troops to shreds.

Through his NVGs, Brett saw three shadowy figures moving towards him. From the outline of the lead figure, he knew it was his friend, Kyle Daniels, and his advance team returning from their assignment. They'd spent the better part of the past ten minutes setting five M138 demolition charges along the east side of the camp. That was enough explosives to blow several large holes in the concertina wire... and in the ground as well.

Kyle hopped into the jump seat behind Brett and handed him the remote detonator. "We're all set," he reported.

Over the radio, Brett could hear the other teams reporting in and he raised the radio mike to his mouth. "Delta one, ready," he reported.

The response was from his superior. "Delta one, stand by."

"Standing by," Brett replied. He checked his watch and raised his right hand with all fingers fully extended. Five minutes to go before Operation Shadow Hawk commenced.

He adjusted his NVGs and zoomed in on the camp. They'd been observing it from the relative safety of some nearby woods for just over twenty minutes now. That, plus the information obtained from local intelligence sources had yielded them a wealth of information. Just in front of them, a dirt road came in from the north, then turned west to go in front of the camp's entrance checkpoint before descending a short hill and curving back to the southwest out of sight. Two machine gun bunkers and two guard towers to the left and right of the checkpoint guarded the road in both directions.

Other than the checkpoint, there were handful of other buildings at the camp entrance including one that appeared to be a bunkhouse of sorts for the guards and machine gunners. Brett observed one individual stepping from the building and return to the checkpoint, zipping up his pants as he walked. Brett couldn't help but snort a grin. Ah, the joys of life in the field.

Aside from that, there was also a building that according to what intelligence they'd gathered, served as quarters for Aadinath Kuznetsov and his so-called "command staff." More like his harem actually. He was the leader of this little band of terrorist vermin. From what they'd been able to gather on Kuznetsov, it seemed that he was well known for "entertaining" women in the camp whether they wanted to be entertained or not. Age didn't appear to be much of a problem for him either.

That sickened Hudson but now was not the time to think about it. Personal emotions and thoughts like that were often deadly to professionals like him if they were not checked before a mission kicked off. There would be time to vent frustration later if needed. Right now he had to keep his mind on the task at hand.

Returning his NVG magnification to normal, Hudson felt it was rather brazen and perhaps even a bit nonsensical to have the camp command center so close to the most obvious points of attack. But then in his rather lengthy experience, terrorists of this caliber... or any caliber for that matter... rarely did anything that made sense. But then there was always the possibility that intel was wrong and the real command center was elsewhere. Like perhaps in that odd temple behind the camp.

Aside from the entrance checkpoint and the few buildings that surrounded it, there were at least thirty other hastily constructed buildings, a handful of tents and ten other guard towers all around the camp. Even so, from the look of the construction, it didn't appear these guys had any intention of going anywhere anytime soon.

There were the obvious things that Brett often expected when conducting a raid like this. There were quite a few improvised fighting positions ringed with concertina wire all over the interior of the camp along with several troop barracks, a kitchen and a mess hall. There was also a motor pool with a heavy repair bay, a few transport trucks and several jeeps with mounted .50 caliber machine guns and rocket launchers present. Through his NVGs, Brett observed a man dozing in one of the jeeps at the base of a machine gun.

A high-pitched whine nearby denoted the presence a large power generator and the communications tower next to it kept the camp in touch with the rest of the outside world. Finally there was a building that seemed to be an armory of sorts and another area nearby that was clearly a firing range. All in all, this terrorist camp looked more like a miniature military installation and less like an out of the way place where a bunch of trigger happy goons high on adrenaline and low on smarts chose to hide out. Brett was sure something else was going on here. He had no idea what that was however, and if intelligence knew they, of course, weren't saying.

But whatever it was, it had to do with that temple behind the camp.

The camp was located at an isolated spot at the base of the Himalayas dozens of miles from any kind of civilization. The "temple", if one could even really call it that, was built directly into the side of a mountain. There was a ruined wall at the entrance surrounding a rather large open area that was assumed to have once been some kind of a courtyard. Several trees grew in the area, partially obscuring the temple entrance and a couple small, decrepit stone buildings stood nearby. Brett figured they had most likely been guard houses at some point in time.

Nothing else was known about the temple though. Even with all their sophisticated looking and listening technologies, intelligence had not been able to ascertain what the inside layout of the temple was. And a search of Nepalese, Tibetan, Hindu and Buddhist records had turned up absolutely nothing on the temple. Nothing regarding how old the temple was, what it may have been used for or even that it had ever been explored. In fact the Nepalese government claimed it had never been aware of such a temple existing.

Brett frowned slightly. It was almost as if the temple didn't want to be discovered and it filled him with a sense of foreboding. And ever since he's arrived in the area a little over 20 minutes ago, Brett had been experiencing a rather odd feeling that he'd never felt before. He felt, or rather heard, what seemed like soft whispers though they didn't seem to be speaking any particular language.

And the temple… the temple seemed to be having an eerie effect on him as well. The more Brett looked towards its narrow entrance, the more it seemed to be waiting for him. Almost as if the temple was somehow calling to him. That he needed to go inside it for some reason.

Brett laughed uncomfortably to himself. Soft whispers? Calling to him? Yeah, he should try to sell that one the next time he had to submit to a psychological interview… which was a regular thing for everyone in his team. They'd bounce him out of the unit and quite possibly out of the Army so fast he wouldn't even have time to properly out-process. And no matter what the temple was supposedly doing to him, it was already a foregone conclusion that he'd have to enter it.

Because there was no question that inside that temple were the objectives of this raid.

The terrorist group that occupied the camp was a relative newcomer to the world stage known as the Final Legion. Six days earlier the group, led by Aadinath Kuznetsov, had kidnapped the Dalai Lama and fifty others during a state visit to Japan. Among the other hostages taken were fifteen Americans. The world had been outraged by this act and most countries were looking down on Japan since it had happened on their home soil.

For their part, Japan had been quick to condemn the action and demand immediate counter-action against, "those who would dishonor the homeland of the Japanese people." Working with several American and foreign agencies, Kuznetsov and his group had been traced to this camp in the Himalayas. And given how much hardware Brett had seen just during the past half hour, the Final Legion appeared to be very well financed… something Kuznetsov wasn't capable of doing on his own.

A former Russian Spetsnaz commando who'd seen action in Chechnya fighting Muslim insurgents, Kuznetsov had been drummed out in 2013 for unknown reasons. Given his supposed penchant for underage girls however, Brett could guess why. Then more than a year ago, his father, a tank commander, had been one of the relatively few fatalities suffered by the Russians during their annexation of Crimea. Kuznetsov had seemingly had a mental breakdown after that incident and dropped out of society, reappearing only six days earlier when the Final Legion struck in Japan.

Intel had no idea if the Dalai Lama was still alive or what the Final Legion planned to do with him as aside from a truthful claim of responsibility for the kidnapping, there had thus far, been no further contact from the group. No demands, no posturing for the cameras, nothing. They also didn't know if the other fifty hostages were still alive or not. But regardless of their fates, Brett's unit had its orders. And those orders were to take out every last member of the Final Legion. If Dalai Lama or any of the other hostages were still alive, they were to be secured and transported to a safe location.

_Yep,_ Brett thought as he continued to scan the camp. _The guy's a real madman and needs to be put down like the wild dog that he is._

Even so, Brett had a bad feeling in his gut about this mission and it wasn't just the supposed callings of that weird temple. He raised his NVGs and looked out at the horizon as best he could. The first faint hints of sunlight were just starting to show themselves and Brett exhaled in frustration. The previous night's report for clear weather had been grossly inaccurate and the roads had been difficult to traverse.

As a result the team had arrived at their current waypoint almost three hours late. Had everything gone according to plan, the raid should've already been over and the team well on their way to their next waypoint. But now they were being force to conduct the raid at daybreak, just as most of the camp's occupants were waking up.

Oh well, at least they weren't launching this operation in broad daylight. But regardless, complaining would be of little use. Brett Hudson was a professional and he'd been doing this kind of thing now for over 20 years. Being a soldier was all he knew and all he wanted to do. Or was it?

In the grand scheme of things, the Final Legion was relatively small potatoes when compared with some of the other terrorist groups in the world. But whether you were large or small, wealthy or poor, kidnapping the Dalai Lama and fifty other hostages was a sure fire way to get the world's attention. And that was precisely why Brett Hudson's unit had gotten the call to deal with this situation. The 1st Special Forces Group Operational Detachment.

Delta Force.

Divided into four battalions, or squadrons as they were called among Delta Force operators, only D or Delta squadron was present for this assignment. As the Delta Force hierarchy liked to say, "one crisis, one squadron." And even though the Final Legion appeared to be better armed than most terrorist groups, it still didn't seem like anything that Delta squadron hadn't dealt with in the past.

At the moment, Alpha squadron was back home developing new tactics for evasion with the FBI. Bravo squadron was chasing a hijacked airliner across South America. And Charlie squadron was dispersed across the Middle East doing its part to advance the War on Terror. That was duty rotated by each Delta Force squadron every six months and in just a couple months' time it would Delta squadron's turn in the Middle East.

Brett wasn't really looking forward to returning to the Middle East for the umpteenth time in his career. But as long as he was with Delta Force or any other Special Mission force and the War on Terror demanded it, he'd go wherever the President and the Pentagon decided there was a problem that needed to be solved. The Middle East was merely the biggest and most publicly known trouble spot. However, Brett had been to problem areas that were not well known to public or at least kept out of the media and their insane objective to have "all the peoples of the world live in harmony."

Bah. Hudson wanted to offer anyone who truly thought that was possible to trade spots with him for few days and see how "possible" that really was. He promptly shook the thoughts from his mind. He was a soldier with a job to do. Politicians had their jobs to do and the whiners, complainers and unrealistic harmonizers… well they had nothing to do in his mind.

There was one thing that gnawed at Brett about the whole thing though. Being part of a major counter terrorist organization such as Delta Force, knowing who the major terrorist organizations as well as the up and coming ones were, was practically a necessity. Yet up until six days ago when the Final Legion had kidnapped the Dalai Lama, no one had ever heard of them. Not Delta Force, not SEAL Team 6, not the SAS, no one. So where the hell had this group come from? It was like they'd just appeared one day out of thin air.

Oh well, it wasn't Delta Force's job to figure out where the Final Legion had come from or who was ultimately financing them. That was for the big intelligence networks to figure out, even though they didn't seem to have the answers to either of those questions either. Delta Force's job... at least in the immediate... was to rescue the Dalai Lama, rescue as many of the remaining hostages as possible and eliminate all members of the Final Legion, especially Kuznetsov.

And that job was about to get underway. Even though the US and several other countries had been actively involved for the past several days in trying to release the Dalai Lama and other hostages through negotiations, their arguments had largely fallen on deaf ears. And fifteen hours earlier when those negotiations had completely broken down, Delta Force had been given the green light to go forward with the rescue operation. Brett checked his watch again, stood up in his FAV and turned to the rest of his team. Waving one finger in the air, he quietly announced, "One minute to show time."

"Here we go," Kyle said behind him.

"Same as always," Brett replied.

"Wouldn't miss it Captain Amtrak."

Brett gave him a mildly disgusted look as he sat back down. Being called by his rank was only slightly less irritating that being called by his nickname.

Whereas Delta Force battalions were known as squadrons, Delta Force companies were known as troops. Brett Hudson was the commander of Delta squadron, Troop One, a position earned less than six months earlier owing to the recent transfer of the previous Troop One commander to another unit.

Their assignment in Operation Shadow Hawk was to take out the guard towers on the east side of camp including the ones around the generator and communications tower. The troop would split up into two teams. Team one was tasked with destroying any combat vehicles in the motor pool, blowing the power generator and destroying all the communications equipment. Team two would secure and prepare as many of the transport trucks as possible to transport the hostages to safety.

From there the teams would reform and link up with Troop Two coming in from the west side and assault the temple. Troop One was to eliminate all resistance within while Troop Two was to secure and evacuate the Dalai Lama and any hostages that remained.

While this was going one, Troop Three was going to come in directly through the main checkpoint, eliminating it and covering the rear of Troops One and Two as they assaulted the temple. They were also to take out the armory and firing range. Finally, it was Troop Three's job to provide security against potential counterattack from the outside.

For his personal contribution, Hudson would go with Team One to take out the generator, the communications equipment and the tower. He would then reunite with Team Two and lead Troop One into the temple with Troop Two right behind him. The key was speed and accuracy, something every Delta Force operator trained in nearly every day and Hudson was confident that his Troop would do their job as quickly and accurately as expected.

All in all, it was estimated that the raid potion of Operation Shadow Hawk would take no more than 30 minutes to pull off. After it was over and Delta Force withdrew, it was a long drive back across the border to Varanasi, India. There the Indian authorities and a battalion of US Marines were on standby waiting to receive the hostages as soon as Delta Force arrived with them. From there, Echo Squadron would fly them back home to Fort Bragg, North Carolina via Kuala Lumpur, Guam and San Francisco.

At least that's what the plan was. But having been a soldier for as long as he had been, Brett Hudson knew that plans were effective right up until the first shot was fired. After that, things had a tendency to go any which way they pleased. It was a frustrating, but expected trait of combat. Any good commander knew that all one could do was stick to the plan as best as possible and make minor adjustments along the way as the developing situation warranted. If entire plans had to be scrapped and redone, you were either in serious trouble or the enemy had done something that had never been taken into consideration.

Hudson took a deep breath and tried to focus on what was about to begin. Having been a captain for three years and the executive officer of Troop One for that entire time before assuming command, this was nevertheless, Hudson's first mission as the commander of Troop One. It was a little daunting for the forty-two year old soldier yet his commanding officer had assured him that he would be just fine. He'd even been notified just earlier in the day that upon his successful return to Fort Bragg, a promotion to Major awaited him.

He checked his watch again. Making a horizontal spinning motion with his right fist, he said, "All right, thirty seconds to blast off."

Upon hear that command, Hudson started hearing a multitude of soft clicks as the men in his Troop began charging their weapons. He sat back down and checked the passenger seat mounted M240 machine gun to make sure it was properly loaded. The last thing he or any of them needed was an improperly loaded weapon that could blow up in their faces. While he didn't think any of his troops would knowingly do that, Murphy's Law stated that the one time you forgot to double check something was the one time that same thing would fail or malfunction. No way was he going to give Murphy's law a chance to rear its ugly head. He'd seen that enough in his career.

With the M240's functionality confirmed, Hudson proceeded to charge his Mk 17, an updated version of the FN FAL assault rifle designed specifically to meet US Special Operations Command standards. Equipped with a red dot scope and a forward grip, it was the standard rifle for many special operations groups including Delta Force. It had been their standard assault rifle now for five years and Brett was quite accustomed to it.

He then checked the rest of his gear which included his body armor, his extra ammo clips, two 9mm handgun side arms, four Cold Steel tanto knives he always took into the field and three flash-bang grenades. It wasn't exactly a standard loadoutbut Brett had been on more than one mission where an extra sidearm or a throwing knife had been the difference between returning home and returning home in a box. He also had sound suppressors for both side arms. It was unlikely he'd need them, considering the nature of this mission, but one could never be certain.

As he listened to Kyle charge the main .50 caliber machine gun that was mounted on the roll cage, Brett closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of distractions and visualize the upcoming task. It was a little ritual he'd adopted ever since his earliest Army days as an Airborne Ranger. Though some of his fellow Delta Force comrades razzed him for it, his little pre-mission "ritual" had always seemed to work as he'd walked away alive and healthy from some battles where others would've been killed. And as his late sensei had often told him, "If it's not broken, don't fix it."

Yet even as he relaxed and tried to clear his head, a plethora a thoughts invaded his mind. At 42 years of age Brett had spent the last twenty-four years of his life as a soldier and a lion's share of those years had been spent with Delta Force. He'd been all over the world seeking out and destroying terrorist threats to US and world security. Such work occasionally including capturing the commanders and leaders as well as stealing their assets. It was work that he was proud to do and thankful that he was one of the rare few in the world physically and psychologically capable of handling such demanding work.

Even so, he was starting to wonder if he was getting just a little too old for this kind of a career. And as he relaxed and tried to shut out the world around him for a few seconds, he found himself dreaming of a life after the military.

Life after the military? That didn't seem like it was possible and thinking about it was a lot harder than it seemed. He'd lost his wife almost fifteen years earlier and the near month-long psychological testing he'd had to go through to ensure he was still fit for duty had been brutal. But he'd persevered and remained with Delta anyway.

That being said, Brett knew he couldn't stay in Delta Force, and indeed the Army, forever. Even though he wasn't looking for romance at the present time, he still had to think about the future. Despite receiving his commission as a result of a battlefield promotion instead of normal channels, Brett nevertheless had enough experience to where he could be assigned as battalion executive or operations officer in just about any other unit. He could even work his way up to battalion or even brigade commander before retirement if he so desired. According to Army regulations though, he'd have to serve at least another ten years before he could retire as a full colonel but it was still possible.

Of course there was also the possibility that he could retire sooner. But what would he do with the rest of his life if he did that? Being a soldier was pretty much all he'd ever known since he was eighteen. If he wasn't a soldier, what else was he?

_C'mon Brett,_ he told himself. _Don't sell yourself short._

Quite often, former Delta Force operators were hired by the FBI or the CIA upon their departure from the military. The problem was recent scandals involving both organizations had left them highly distrusted by the public in general and him personally, with a bad taste in his mouth. So going to work for either of them didn't seem very likely.

Becoming a private security contractor was also relatively common for former Delta Force operators. The issue there was that a glut of private security companies headed by so-called "experts" was appearing all over the world. Some of them were legit but most others were nothing more than a bunch of smoke and mirrors. As a result, the private security industry was starting to get a reputation as being full of cheap opportunists trying to cash in on someone's fears and / or tragedies. And while that was certainly true in a lot of cases, it wasn't in many other cases and the ones that were legit were suffering the most. After all, like a former Delta mentor of his once said, "Good security isn't cheap and cheap security isn't good."

If none of that panned out, there was still what he considered his "fall back" career option. A marital artist since childhood and a certified black belt in seven different fighting systems, Brett had been one of Delta Force's chief hand to hand combat instructors since almost the day he was accepted into the unit. If he could train his counter-terrorist comrades, he could certainly train average folks.

Most of his martial arts background focused on various Okinawan styles of karate and kobudo although he was also well trained in the arts of Japanese swordsmanship and ju-jutsu. Brett preferred the Okinawan way of martial arts as it was more about self-defense and lifestyle rather than scoring points in a tournament as most contemporary martial arts, in his opinion, seemed to be focused on.

The only issue Brett could see with that was that in order to truly understand and appreciate most, if not all, styles of Okinawan karate you had to experience it up close. Put another way, you essentially needed personal mentoring from a teacher. Individualization of mass instruction was key and sadly, most true Okinawan karate masters simply could not make a living teaching groups of only five to ten students. For that reason, Brett was grateful that the master who had trained him, Master Takeshi Masamune, had been his childhood neighbor. For twenty-five years Brett had been Masamune's only student.

Masamune was gone now, having lived a full life. In one of the last conversations they'd had before he passed, he had told Brett that he'd passed on everything he could to him and that it was now his turn to pass on his knowledge to someone worthy of learning it. That was nearly a decade ago and Brett silently hoped he'd one day be able to fulfill Masamune's dying wish.

He opened his eyes and checked his watch. Whether or not he'd be able to one day do that was a question that would have to be answered some other time. Right now, he had to get his mind back on the immediate task. Pulling a black balaclava over his head and face, Hudson stowed his NVGs in the FAV's passenger side storage basket. Although the sun was only just starting to rise, there was nevertheless enough natural light to make continued wearing of them an unnecessary risk in Hudson's mind. He'd seen more than one friend be fatally wounded upon being temporarily blinded by a set of NVGs.

_Not me,_ Brett thought as he took hold of the detonator that Kyle had passed him a moment ago. He extended a small antenna from it and flipped five switches, arming the M138 charges. Eyeing his watch as he did, he counted off the last five seconds on his fingers. On "zero" he flipped those same switches even further and five deafening blasts roared from the east side of the camp.

The shockwaves that resulted threw huge sections of the concertina wire up into the air and out of the way, clearing several pathways into the compound. A couple seconds after the charges blew, four other Delta operators armed with AT4s targeted four of the guard towers on the east side instantly obliterating them and killing the guards inside before they knew what hit them.

With the route into the compound open, Brett charged the FAV's M240 machine gun and gave the signal for Troop One to begin its part of the raid. As the vehicle lurched forward towards one of the numerous breaches in the wire, screams of alarm and confusion echoed out as the Final Legion goons within began to realize they were under attack.

Troop One and the rest of Delta squadron opened fire immediately, not wanting them to have a chance of getting organized. Small arms fire erupted from all sides as targets of opportunity were engaged. A terrorist popped up in Brett's field of vision just as his vehicle drove through the breach in the wire. Triggering the M240, he drilled the terrorist three times before he was able to raise his rifle.

Operation Shadow Hawk was underway.


	3. Soldier of Helios, Chapter 2

**Soldier of Helios – Chapter 2**

_Planet Earth, Somewhere in Nepal_

_Inside the Final Legion Camp_

With his finger on the trigger guard of his rifle, a sentry walked a patrol route around the building used by Aadinath Kuznetsov as his private quarters. Private quarters huh? It was actually little more than a hastily constructed hut in the ruins of the temple courtyard. And they weren't exactly what one might call private given the sounds that often emanated from the building.

He stopped at a point in his route at the front left corner of the hut and massaged his aching feet. Damn patrol duty. Oh well, it could've been worse. At least he could move around, not like the other stiff who'd managed to draw guard duty at the commander's hut. That guy had to stand there at the door to the hut for six straight hours. Fortunately, with the sun starting to come up, their shift would be over soon and they could rest.

Some laughter on the other side of the courtyard got his attention. A small group was involved in a rather spirited game of cards. They'd been there most of the night and it didn't look like the game was going to end any time soon. He hoped it was still going on when he went off duty so he could join in for a little while.

The sentry resumed his patrol route which took him past the door to the hut. Inside he could hear the sobs and cries of a woman. Kuznetsov was having his way with one of the hostages and had been for about four hours now. The sentry knew that because he was the one who'd brought the girl to Kuznetsov when he'd demanded one of the hostages be brought to him.

At first the woman had cried and screamed for help, help that never came. And as time wore on her cries for help degenerated into muffled sobs and pleas. Please that again, went unheard. The sentry couldn't have cared less what happened to her. She was an infidel and infidels deserved what they got. To hell with all of them.

That's why he didn't understand why Kuznetsov insisted on keeping the Dalai Lama alive. He was the worst of the infidels they'd captured thus far. Yet so far he hadn't done anything with him. What did he have planned for him? Questions to him about what he intended to do with the Dalai Lama had thus far been met with only a stern, "none of your business" and "hurt him and I'll kill you plus the two people next to you."

Dammit, he'd put his life on the line for this and he felt he had a right to know what they were going to do with the Dalai Lama. Several others felt that way too. And if they didn't start seeing action or getting answers soon… well…Kuznetsov was only one man. One man couldn't stand up to all the rest of them.

Moments later, after he'd past the door to the hut a couple more times, it opened. A bare chested Kuznetsov emerged and shoved a crying Asian girl who was no more than sixteen years of age, towards the door guard. Her clothes were in tatters and she had a couple nasty bruises on her face. When he shoved her, she stumbled forward and fell to the ground, crying hysterically as she did.

"Take her back to the others," Kuznetsov growled.

The door guard moved to roughly usher the sobbing girl to her feet. "Yes sir," he said. "You want another?"

"Not at the moment," Kuznetsov replied. "But keep her handy. I may want her again later."

"Yes sir," the guard said as he dragged the girl towards the temple entrance.

As they departed, Kuznetsov spun around and walked back into his hut. Inside, the furniture was rather sparse and definitely utilitarian in function; just a bed, a sitting area with a desk and a makeshift counter with a camping stove that functioned as a kitchen of sorts. Out here, there wasn't any running water and a giant hole in the ground behind the hut that had once been a tree stump served as his latrine.

He pulled a shirt off a chair and threw it on but didn't bother to button it up. Instead he sat at the desk and used a piece of rolled up paper to snort a couple lines of cocaine up his nose. With that, he sat back and allowed his mind to be swept away in the intense euphoria the drug gave him. Lately, he'd been more paranoid than usual when it came to his belief that others were out to get him and attributed it to a lack of sleep over the last several days. He was hoping that the cocaine he'd come to rely on more and more over the last several months would allow him to get some rest.

That didn't appear to be the case at the moment though as he felt more wired than a satellite in orbit. Maybe he shouldn't have snorted two lines of coke? Bah. If anything he needed more of the stuff to settle down. Problem was, being way out here in the middle of nowhere had seen his stash slowly get depleted as more and more of it went up his nose. He was trying to conserve what he still had as much as possible, but if his mysterious benefactor didn't come through on phase two of this little operation soon, he'd have to scope out some more somewhere. Either that or go mad from the withdrawal.

Leaning forward again, he looked at a picture of his father that he kept on the table. He looked like the quintessential Red Army soldier in Kuznetsov's mind. Tall, stoic expression, squared jaw, short salt and pepper hair and his uniform full of medals. In his drug-induced haze, he still somehow managed to stupidly grin at the picture and wave at it.

"I shall avenge you papa," he muttered. "On my honor as a Russian and as a soldier, I shall avenge you."

Kuznetsov had no clue just how disgusted his father would be with him if he was still alive.

As a career soldier and tank commander his father, Vladimir, had spent forty-four years in the Soviet and later, Russian armies, working his way up to the rank of Lieutenant General. Eighteen months earlier he had been preparing to retire when the whole mess with the Ukraine had started up and Russia had annexed Crimea.

There had been the predictable useless posturing from the West as a result. And the Ukrainian army along with a vast number of insurgents decided to shoot it out with Russia. But their attempts to knock the Russians out of Crimea had been so pitiful it was ridiculous. The Russian army made examples out of the Ukrainians at every turn. And Vladimir had been proud to do his part, content to hold off his retirement until the threat in Ukraine was quelled.

Only his day of retirement never came. After having been in the Ukraine only three weeks, a band of insurgents got lucky and targeted Vladimir's headquarters with a rocket and mortar attack. Though the attack was quick, it had nevertheless leveled most of the tents and huts he'd been using as a command post. And despite the brutal reprisal by the Russians, the damage had already been done in his mind. His father had been killed and to date he was the most senior Russian officer to die in that conflict.

Kuznetsov took a deep breath but his rage overcame him and he pounded the desk hard with his fist. It seemed almost absurd. After his father had survived wars in Afghanistan, Angola, Georgia, Tajikistan and the North Caucasus, he'd been killed by a more or less lucky shot in Crimea! He'd been completely enraged by his father's sudden death, so much so that he had been forced to undergo an extensive series of psychological tests. Tests that he ultimately failed which resulted in him being drummed out of the military with little more than the clothes on his back.

Of all the outrages for a Spetsnaz commando to suffer, being drummed out was one of the worst. His family had loyally served the motherland since the Great Patriotic War and this was what they'd earned in the end? His father buried with full honors in the Federal Military Memorial Cemetery in Moscow and Kuznetsov himself humiliated with no real hope of a future? A future consumed by drugs and alcohol?

Kuznetsov blamed them all for his family's misfortunes. Russia, the Ukraine, the West... everybody. He had to get his revenge. There had to be vengeance and he would not rest until his thirst for it was quenched. Someone had to pay... in blood. And at the moment, he really didn't care who. Eventually, he'd have his revenge on them all.

He didn't know how the kidnapping of the Dalai Lama was going to factor into his visions at the moment but come hell or high water, he'd find a way. His mysterious benefactor had financed this little mission for some reason and he wanted to know why. What was so important about the Dalai Lama and why had his benefactor insisted that he be brought here to this temple?

Four months earlier, he had been contacted by a mysterious figure that had desired to hire him for a little mission... kidnap the Dalai Lama and bring him to this location. As a former Spetsnaz commando, he had been more than up to the challenge, especially when the mysterious figure had promised him revenge against his enemies. But when he'd tried to inquire as to why the Dalai Lama was the target, he'd been not-so-politely told to mind his own business and that the answers would be revealed to him in the fullness of time.

Kuznetsov might have ended all correspondence with the mysterious figure right then and there, but shortly thereafter, an extremely tidy sum of money had appeared in his bank account, enough to keep him solvent for the rest of his life. A "good faith down payment" the mysterious person had told him. There was no way he'd be able to turn down that kind of money and had been hooked ever since.

Whoever his mystery benefactor was had spared no expense to ensure the mission went off without a hitch. The maps leading to this location, all the equipment, transportation, funding, even to a certain extent, the one hundred or so people that he commanded... they had all been more or less supplied by his mysterious benefactor. It almost all seemed too good to be true and for awhile he had wondered if he was being taken for little more than a patsy.

But this mystery individual has also supplied the Final Legion with the Dalai Lama's travel itinerary. And sure enough, he'd been in the Meiji Shrine in Tokyo exactly when his itinerary had said he'd be there. After eliminating his bodyguards, they'd taken him in the forest surrounding the shrine. It had been surprisingly easy to hide his Final Legion soldiers among the 120,000 trees that made up the forest.

The other fifty hostages he'd taken had been targets of opportunity. Just people who had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they were his playthings. He didn't much care that his shadow sponsor had been a little upset that he'd taken extra hostages. He figured that if this individual wanted the Dalai Lama so badly, a few extra hostages for him to toy with was something that he'd just have to accept… even if getting out of Japan had been a bit of challenge as a result.

Since the kidnapping, the United States had been leading an international team negotiating for the release of the Dalai Lama and the other hostages but Kuznetsov was sticking to his guns. His sponsor had told him that the other hostages were his to do with as he pleased but the Dalai Lama was not to be released under any circumstances. The big Russian laughed. Americans... they were so weak and ineffective. Always the first to the negotiating table but last to flex their military might, even when necessary. It was therefore, still perplexing to Kuznetsov as to just how in the hell America had won the Cold War. His sponsor was right about them, but it still made no sense.

Kuznetsov had no idea who his mysterious backer was or why the Dalai Lama was so important to him. But whoever it was, he imagined that whoever it was had some sort of personal grudge against the Dalai Lama. Either that or just some crackpot who felt the only way to make a statement was to pull off something so unbelievable, the world had to take notice.

Even so, he was starting to worry a bit. It had been nearly a week now since the Final Legion had successfully kidnapped the Dalai Lama and the Americans had backed away from the negotiations the day before. On top of that, his backer still hadn't shown up to claim his prize or do whatever he intended to do with the Dalai Lama. What was taking his sponsor so long? He's notified his sponsor of the Final Legion's success upon arriving at this camp with the Dalai Lama who assured him he'd be in touch with further instructions shortly. But since then, nothing. He was once again starting to feel like he was being played for a patsy.

Just a few days ago, he had tried to identify his mysterious employer for the second time since this little "arrangement" was forged. But both times, just as he felt he was getting close, whoever it was would get wise to his inquiries and warn him to keep his nose out of places it didn't belong. The second warning a day or two ago had also been accompanied by an assurance that there would not be a third warning.

Kuznetsov had gotten the message and decided that no matter what, he was not going to make any further attempts to identify his supporter. Whoever it was had expected results and he was determined to get them if only because his benefactor had promised him another big payday if the Final Legion was successful. That was another reason why he was starting to worry about the sudden lack of communication between him and his shady sponsor. That second payday had yet to materialize.

The only other question he'd really asked was why was the Dalai Lama so important to this mission? Surprisingly, his guarantor had been rather generous with an answer, possibly as a means of placating him so he wouldn't dig around in other business. According to whoever was paying him, the Dalai Lama was the only one who could unlock the secrets of this temple, even though the Dalai Lama had claimed he'd never heard of this place and had promised Kuznetsov that he would die before whatever secrets were contained here fell into the wrong hands.

Initially he had thought that the Dalai Lama's defiance was between him and whoever had paid to have him kidnapped. But as the days started to drag on, he began to think that if whoever had backed this little operation was so keen on knowing the secrets of this temple, perhaps they were worth his trouble to learn them first. And he had a pretty good idea of where he could find them.

He had explored every room of the temple at one time or another since he'd first been led to it. Every room that was, except one. At the northernmost point of the temple were two intricately carved stone doors, each one two meters wide by four meters tall. Whatever secrets the temple held had to be beyond those doors because they were locked tighter than Fort Knox and thus far, all attempts to open the massive doors had met with failure.

They'd tried breaking the doors down with sledgehammers, wrecking them with jackhammers, even blowing them apart with explosives. Nothing. The massive doors hadn't even been scratched. Kuznetsov had even tried doing it himself a couple times and he was beyond frustrated that the doors continually thwarted his efforts.

Although he wouldn't swear to it because others would claim he was just delusional from drug use, there nevertheless seemed to be some kind of a mystical seal on the doors. The one time he'd tried to blow the doors open, he was certain he'd seen a flash of blue light around them as the explosives detonated. It had only lasted a split second and he had been the only one to witness it. Whatever secrets were behind that door, the temple wasn't going to give them up easily.

Kuznetsov couldn't help but imagine what kind of riches or secrets lay waiting to be discovered beyond that sealed door. Gold? Jewels? The secret of immortality? He had no idea but whatever it was, he wanted to get his hands on it before his mystery backer showed up and claimed the secrets for himself. They maybe he could buy the Russian presidency outright and seize control of the country. With its vast military and resources at his command, he'd make the Ukraine pay for what they'd done to his father. He'd make them all pay. The United Nations would cower at his feet.

The depression of what happened to his father was getting a little too much to bear so he snorted another line of coke. Obviously, the key to getting past those doors was the Dalai Lama and Kuznetsov was seriously considering the option of forcing him to do just that.

He no longer cared that his mystery backer had warned him that absolutely nothing was to happen to the Dalai Lama before his arrival... a warning capped with the promise that if something did happen to him, Kuznetsov's death would be neither swift nor painless. He'd abided by that demand for days thus far but with his better judgment almost non-existent due to his extensive drug use, he rather arrogantly believed that if he obtained the temple's secrets before his benefactor arrived, he could easily prove that he no longer needed his clandestine support.

To do that he'd have to force the Dalai Lama to perform whatever trickery he knew on that damn sealed door. Even though he had already sworn never to help them, Kuznetsov figured he'd change his mind when his life and the lives of the other hostages was at stake. Once he had the temple's secrets, he could dispose of the Dalai Lama and turn the tables on his backer.

He sighed with anticipation. Oh yes, he'd force the Dalai Lama to do exactly as he wished. He'd drag the Dalai Lama straight to that damn sealed door and execute a hostage or two right in front of him if he displayed any defiance. He'd get whatever secrets this temple hid from view and then turn them loose on an unsuspecting world.

But he'd do that a little later. Right now, it was time for some more fun with another of the young hostages. Maybe he'd have that young Asian girl brought back. Maybe he'd have some fun with someone else. With a wild and sadistically gleeful look in his eye, he laughed and got up from the desk to order his guards to bring him another hostage.

A deafening roar outside shook the entire hut and knocked Kuznetsov off his feet. He hit the floor with a heavy thud and groaned in pain. Another explosion shook the hut a second time. What the hell was happening? If his men had decided to alleviate the boredom by firing off grenades, he'd kill them himself.

Several more explosions were heard followed by the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire and shouts of alarm and panic. He got to his knees in wide eyed shock. His men weren't bored. They were under attack!

Scrambling to his feet, he dashed out the door to his hut in time to witness a nearby guard tower get hit by a rocket. It was quickly engulfed in flames and the luckless occupant was jettisoned out of it, his burning body falling to the ground.

Kuznetsov almost couldn't believe his eyes. "What's happening?"

"The Americans are here," screamed the guard post in front of the hut. "Thousands of them with jeeps and tanks!"

_Jeeps and tanks, _Kuznetsov thought. _Impossible. No way could the Americans have gotten that massive a force to this place here without being spotted._ That could only mean one thing… it had to be a commando raid. That was why the Americans had broken off negotiations!

Damn it, he should've known this was coming. Once he and his men dealt with this threat, he'd have to snort the rest of his stash to make sure he was in top form in case the Americans tried something like this again. "Concentrate your defense around the courtyard," he ordered. "Keep the Americans out of this area and, most importantly, keep them out of the temple! I shall go secure the prisoners for immediate evacuation!" And with that, he ran off towards the temple entrance. In truth, there was no evacuation plan because he'd never even considered the notion that they'd come under attack.

To hell with the hostages. To hell with the Dalai Lama. To hell with his shadowy sponsor. If he was to force the Dalai Lama to reveal the temple's secrets to him, it was now or never.

_2 Minutes into Operation Shadow Hawk_

All around the camp, members of the Final Legion watched in utter shock and disbelief as Delta Force swarmed all around them and the situation rapidly disintegrated into utter chaos. Explosions constantly shook the ground and everywhere they turned, the shadowy attackers seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

Racing through the motor pool area, the FAV next to Brett's fired a TOW missile and a guard tower in the courtyard disappeared in flames. The hapless goon manning the tower was ejected out the other side and landed dead on the ground.

A few Final Legion terrorists had organized near a parked jeep and were returning coordinated fire. With bullets whistling past him, Brett triggered the M240 at them. Several of the terrorists learned the hard way that high powered bullets ricochet off of vehicle doors and side panels only in the movies. Brett fired the 240 again and another terrorist pawed at his ruined face while falling over.

As the FAV sped past the jeep, Brett tossed a grenade into the jeep which bounced off the front seat onto the floor and rolled under the brake pedal. The resulting explosion blew the steering wheel and dashboard right out of the jeep while the floor was blown straight down. It severed the fuel line and ignited the gas tank blowing the back end to pieces and launching the engine right out of the hood.

The front grill was ripped off in the blast and went sailing across the camp. Like a giant buzzsaw, it decapitated a terrorist who never saw it coming and hacked the arm off another who just managed to avoid the same fate. As he stood upright, shrieking in agony, a Delta operator from Troop Two made his suffering brief.

Another group of Final Legion goons had taken positions around a Russian-made BTR-80 for cover. An 8-wheeled armored personnel carrier, it had a typical crew of three and a passenger complement of seven. It also sported a KPV 14.5 mm heavy machine gun and a 7.62 mm PKT general purpose machine gun.

A pair of Final Legion terrorists fired indiscriminately at the Delta vehicles while a third attempted to man the KPV. From the rear jump seat, Kyle fired a burst from the M2, the thunder of it sounding like a 50 caliber jackhammer. Sweeping it from left to right, the armor piercing rounds punched several holes in the APC's engine block and one fist sized hole in the back of the Final Legion flunkie trying to get to its heavy machine gun. Sweeping the Ma Deuce back to the left again, Kyle flattened the four tires on the BTR's passenger side.

All around the camp, searchlights began to come on and start tracking the Delta FAVs conducting the assault. But there were so many of them, it was impossible to track them all. And the instant they did start turning on, the Delta commandos began targeting them and the ill-fated goons working them.

Enemy gunfire whined off the FAV as more Final Legion goons took defensive positions in a desperate attempt to win a losing battle. Brett triggered the 240 and walked the line of fire to three terrorists trying to retreat towards the vehicle repair bays. "Wooooo!" he shouted as they were all cut down by the machine gun.

As the FAV rolled past a few tents, Kyle shouted, "Take that you fucking bastards!" and tossed a grenade into one of them. A panicked cry of alarm was suddenly silenced by the explosion and a dead terrorist was thrown out the other side by the blast.

Brett's FAV and two others approached the repair bays which were little more than three dilapidated wooden shacks. Swinging the 240 to the left, Brett fired a long burst into the bays. One Final Legion terrorist fell dead with three bullets in his chest and another that had been trying to use a giant tool box for cover ended up with two in his face. A third assailant that tried to zero in on them never saw Kyle or the Ma Deuce that blew his head clean off his shoulders.

Whizzing by the bays, Brett noticed an M978A4 refueling truck and fuel dump parked next to the building. He tapped the FAV driver on the shoulder and said, "Let's go around for another pass." The driver nodded and yanked the wheel to the right, holding the FAV in hard turn. Behind them, an operator in another FAV heaved a grenade that blew an enemy jeep to bits.

Rolling down the back side of the repair bays, Brett triggered the 240 at a Ural-4320 cargo truck. A much heavier Russian built knock-off of the US M939 5 ton, the type was well known for being nowhere near as reliable as its Detroit-built counterpart. A fact that was rapidly becoming all too apparent to the driver as he frantically tried to get the truck started.

A sustained burst from Brett's 240 destroyed the front windshield and obliterated the driver's head. He then turned the machine gun down the length of the truck into the cargo bed, mowing down three more terrorists as he did. At the same time, Kyle brought the Ma Deuce to life, ripping the truck's engine apart and flattening half the trucks tires.

_Damn,_ Brett thought. _That's one less cargo truck we can use._

Suddenly the FAV swerved to the left as a hailstorm of gunfire narrowly missed them. A terrorist in one of the few still-intact guard towers had trained a Russian AEK-999 machine on them. He tried to adjust his aim as the FAV zipped by, but Kyle on the M2 beat him to the trigger. A bullet tore through the brute's leg, severing it just below the knee. Howling in agony from the sudden amputation, the terrorist went down hard. Yet like a true psycho fanatic, he still tried his best to take out the Delta vehicle. Kyle triggered the M2 again and stitched the wounded goon from crotch to sternum, ending his anguish for good.

The driver held the FAV in another hard turn and once again, they approached the front of the repair bays. The Final Legion defenders had gotten a little better organized and a blaze of incoming gunfire greeted the Delta vehicles as they approached. Brett's 240 and Kyle's Ma Deuce chattered to life, spraying the bays with a continual stream of fire. One terrorist went down with half his chest shot up and another had the top of his head blown off. The remaining terrorists were forced to dive for cover or drop prone.

"Stop here," Brett ordered as they approached the refueling truck again. The FAV skidded to a halt and Grabbing one of two M3 MAAWS that was kept with the vehicle, he called back to Kyle, "Cover me!"

"Do what you gotta do Captain," Kyle yelled as he laid down an unending stream of suppressing fire into the repair bays.

Brett hurried around the vehicle and knelt down on one knee next to the driver front tire. Zeroing in on the refueling truck, he raised the M3 to his shoulder. A modern version of the old World War II era M1 "bazooka", he let a high explosive anti-armor round fly. It slammed into the truck's main fuel supply bladder and it detonated with a roar that was heard all around the camp.

The shockwave caused a portion of the repair bay to collapse and a massive fireball surged from the ruined tanker. It enveloped the remainder of the repair bay, setting it alight. Terrorists that remained inside desperately tried to flee but they were either cut down by machine gun fire or trapped by the flaming debris.

As Brett reclaimed his seat in the FAV, a secondary explosion burst forth from more than a dozen fuel cans next the refueling truck that had overheated. It sent burning fuel flying onto the remains of the repair bay and anyone left inside. For split second, Brett watched as a half dozen Final Legion thugs screaming in terror and covered in flames, flailed their limbs about frantically trying to extinguish themselves. A couple of them staggered towards the Delta vehicles and had to be put down, but the rest were left to die in their flaming misery.

Brett motioned for the FAV to get moving again. "Let's go," he said. "To the power generator and communications bunker. Move, move." The FAV started rolling again and Brett got on the radio. "Troop one team two, secure the remaining cargo trucks."

"Troop one, team two, moving to secure objective," a voice responded.

Once more moving away from the carnage that had befallen the repair bays, Brett's FAV weaved around some of the concertina wire that had been displaced in the initial explosions. Suddenly he found his FAV under the glare of an enemy searchlight and Final Legion terrorists shooting from atop the nearby armory and some stacked ammo crates nearby.

Kyle blasted a salvo from the Ma Deuce and smiled to himself as the searchlight shattered. The unlucky thug manning it caught several shards of glass in the face and chest as it disintegrated and he fell from the tower. But Kyle was already focused on his next target. Lowering his aim, he walked the M2 along the roof of the armory, blasting the heads off of two terrorists and forcing the others to abandon their positions.

Knowing full well what his friend was doing, Brett fired the 240 at the terrorists trying to use the ammo crates for cover. But despite their proximity to the armory, none had apparently paid attention to what was actually in the crates and boxes. As rounds from the 240 homed in on the terrorists, one struck a small box that contained a few sticks of dynamite. A thunderous blast reverberated around the camp that instantly shredded three terrorists to ribbons and permanently destroyed the hearing of several others.

Brett fired another burst from the 240 and two more terrorists each caught a chest full of hot lead. The remaining Final Legion hoods started to retreat away from the armory, but Brett didn't let them get far. Once more triggering the 240, he sawed the legs off of one and stitched open the back of another.

Seeing his comrades torn apart, the final terrorist in the area, his hearing ruined by the dynamite explosion, turned to face Brett and the FAV he rode in. It may have seemed like a noble gesture for a movie, but in real combat, it was utterly suicidal. The goon never got his rifle up before Brett fired no less than two dozen slugs at him, most of them accurately finding their mark. As the terrorist's ripped up corpse started to fall, an explosion behind it sent the body sailing through the air.

Reaching the area where the power generator and communications bunker were, Brett's FAV slid to a stop along with two others. Abandoning the 240, Brett gathered up his Mk 17 rifle and turned on the red dot sight. "Move out!" With Kyle on his heels and another dozen Delta operators backing them up, they began moving towards their first objective.

Brett swept his rifle from side to side as he scanned for targets of opportunity. A Final Legion terrorist abruptly popped up near the generator and raised a pistol. He was beaten to the trigger by Brett who fired a three round burst into his chest and a second into his head. Another terrorist materialized in the darkness near the communications tower and was promptly dispatched to the afterlife by Kyle.

More gunfire behind him told Brett his other Delta comrades were keeping busy eliminating other threats. The incessant hum of the massive electrical generator got Brett's attention and for a split second, he wondered how in the hell the Final Legion had managed to get such a massive thing all the way here in this remote place. It didn't seem like it would even fit on the bed of an eighteen wheeler.

He promptly shed the thought from his mind. That was for the intel agencies to figure out, not him. "Wire the generator and stand by," Brett ordered and six Delta operators peeled off to set the demolition charges.

The main communications bunker was little more than a ten foot by twenty foot concrete reinforced shelter with only one door inside, no windows and two air conditioners to keep the equipment inside cool. A terrorist tried to stealthily move into an ambush position on top of the shelter. Brett saw his movements and immediately shot him three times in the face. His partner suddenly appeared on the left side of the shelter but Kyle drilled him before he could get a shot off.

Brett snapped his fingers and pointed to the shelter door. At that signal, another Delta operator moved up and placed a small C4 "door breach" charge against the latch. He could hear two voices inside frantically chattering inside. No doubt they were trying to summon reinforcements but from where exactly was anybody's guess. The Delta commandos then moved away and took cover positions on the side of the building. Brett readied a flash bang grenade and nodded once.

The trooper who had placed the charge, detonated it and a moderately loud bang was heard as the latch was mangled and the door swung open. Immediately, Brett primed the grenade and tossed it into the opening. A couple seconds later, it went off and Brett quickly entered with Kyle backing him up.

There were two dazed terrorists inside; one seated at a desk temporarily blinded by the blast and the other bleeding from ruptured eardrums. Kyle put four rounds in the hood behind the desk while Brett finished off the one with bleeding ears. "Clear?"

"Clear!" Kyle confirmed.

Brett stuck his head back out the door and ordered another Delta trooper to begin setting charges at the communications tower. He then dumped the dead terrorist out of the chair and had a seat at the desk. Kyle stood guard at the doorway while Brett began to rifle through the drawers, searching for any potential intelligence information. He found nothing in the skinny drawer and nothing in the top drawer.

In the middle drawer however, he immediately spotted a one page document that got his attention. Pulling it from the drawer, he examined it only to discover it was written in a language he'd never seen before. "Hey," he said. "You ever seen this?"

Kyle gave the document the once over and shook his head. "Sorry, never seen that language before," he apologized. "What do you suppose it means?"

"Hell if I know, but we'd better take this with us," Brett replied. "Someone in the CIA or NSA will be able to make sense out of it." He folded it up and put it in his pocket. As he did, his gaze fell upon a nearby laptop screen. Whatever was on the screen was written in the same language as the paper he'd just seized. "Look at this," he said pointing to it. "Everything on this damn computer is written in that same language."

Kyle took a look. "Sure the hell is. Maybe it's a code of some kind?"

"I'd say that's likely," Brett answered. "Looks like these Final Legion bastards might have been planning something bigger than we thought."

"Yeah, but what," Kyle wondered.

"You're asking me," Brett shrugged. "How the hell do I know?" He looked at the computer screen again as if it would somehow suddenly make sense to him. And for a split second, maybe it did. He brushed it off, closed the laptop and handed it to Kyle. "Take this. Maybe the spooks in the CIA can make sense of it."

Kyle chuckled. "Yeah if they're not too busy trying to pry into the lives of our average folks."

Brett ignored Kyle's acerbic statement and turned his attention to the radios, satellite equipment and power supplies. Of course it all had to be destroyed but even a satchel charge might inadvertently miss something if it wasn't placed properly or just by dumb luck. And with that, Brett knew what he had to do to ensure all this stuff was rendered completely useless.

He had to make use of his special gift. A talent he'd had ever since he was a little boy. It was something he'd kept well-hidden for years.

"Turn around Kyle," he said.

"What for?"

"Just turn around," Brett said again a little more forcefully. "In fact, go out there and get a satchel charge from somebody."

Kyle offered his good friend a wry smile. "Yes, Captain Amtrak," he said.

Brett rolled his eyes. As soon as Kyle was out the door, he turned the desk chair around and looked incredulously at the radio equipment. He hated doing what he was about to do because if it was ever discovered, then if he was lucky he'd just labeled a freak. But at the same time he couldn't deny that what he about to do been a tremendous asset to the Delta Force… even if they weren't aware of it.

He reached out, placed his hand on top of one of the radios and closed his eyes. Focusing his thoughts on the radio, he began to imagine it and all the equipment around him as being nothing more than useless junk. Smoking, smoldering garbage. And before he knew it, his right hand suddenly glowed with an eerie white light and burst of lightning surged forth from his fingertips.

The electrical power radiated outward at incredible speed, dancing all around and working its way into every piece of equipment in the shelter. Each item began to billow smoke as the electronics were fried beyond repair. Every circuit board was scorched as the traces were burned and destroyed. Sparks spat from a few of them and all the screens went dark.

Brett removed his hand and opened his eyes. He coughed a couple times as he surveyed the damage around him. But he already knew all the items in the shelter were ruined and could never be repaired. The only thing anybody could ever hope to do with them now was sell them for scrap.

He'd discovered this rather unusual ability when he was a young boy. He remembered he'd tried to turn on the TV one morning so he could watch his favorite Saturday morning cartoon. But the instant he'd touched it, his hand had suddenly glowed white and a surge of power had jumped from his hand to TV. As a result, it had been completely destroyed. His father had been convinced Brett had done something to the TV while repair man blamed it on a "colossal failure of the surge protector."

Somehow, Brett had managed to keep his mouth shut and prevent both of his parents from learning the truth. Not that he would've believed him if he'd said anything. This… trick he'd done was not the only supernatural thing he could do either. Ever since childhood, he'd had an uncanny knack for sensing when danger was close at hand. As an adult and a soldier, that ability had seemed to evolve into being able to identify what was a target and what wasn't without really thinking about it. And finally, another thing he'd been able to do since childhood, was concentrate on minor cuts and scrapes he'd sustained and heal them in near record time.

He coughed a couple more times as Kyle returned with a satchel charge. A befuddled expression appeared on his face as he looked at the now ruined electronic equipment. "You sure you cooked everything in here?" he asked.

"Yeah, I did," Brett responded quietly.

Kyle chuckled and shook his head. He had known about Brett's unique ability to fry electronics for some time now, but that was it. Kyle had no inkling about any of the other things Brett was able to do. The only other people to ever know about his unique talents were Jenkins, commander of Troop Two, his late karate master, Masamune and his late wife, Christina.

He shook his head and got up from the chair. "Set the damn charge. Let's make sure we cover this up as best we can. I don't need people thinking I'm a damn freakazoid."

A small grin from Kyle. "You got it."

He moved to where Brett had been sitting, placed the charge on the desk and stuck a remote blasting cap in it. Kyle then looked at his friend with a concerned expression. "You okay?"

Brett nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

The two of them exited the shelter and Brett pointed at an operator returning from the communications tower. "Primed and ready to blow sir," the operator reported.

"Same here sir," another said as he returned from the power generator.

"Let's move then," Brett replied as they all returned to the waiting FAVs. As he reclaimed his seat behind the M240, someone handed the detonator to Brett who then immediately passed it to Kyle. "You do the honors."

Brett checked to see they were all back where they belonged and motioned for the vehicles to move off. When they'd traveled a safe enough distance, Brett made a swinging motion with his fist and Kyle detonated the charges. Searchlights that were still functioning went dark when the generator exploded and the transmission tower fell down on top of the wreckage. The communications shelter blew completely apart and the whole mess was soon engulfed in flames.

The radio crackled to life. "Team Two here Captain Hudson," a voice spoke. "Three cargo trucks secured. Moving to rejoin."

The announcement prompted Brett to make general report to the entire squadron. "Delta one here. Objectives three, four and five accomplished. Moving to waypoint number two."

"Delta two, moving to waypoint number two to back up Delta one."

"Delta three, objective six secured. Dispersing into security pattern bravo and awaiting evac orders."

The final radio message came from the squadron commander. "Delta squadron begin phase two."

"You heard the man," Brett said to the others in his FAV. "Let's do this."

Kyle fed a fresh belt of ammo into the Ma Deuce. "Ready to jump into the unknown Captain?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That temple. We got no idea what's in there."

The sound of enemy automatic gunfire precluded Brett from answering his friend's question. The low wall that surrounded the temple courtyard came into view as did the Final Legion terrorists defending the position. Kyle swept the M2 down the wall, the 50 caliber rounds punching right through the stone. One terrorist had his entire chest blown out and another was disemboweled by the heavy machine gun.

High on adrenaline and full of delusions of being John Rambo, a Final Legion assailant triggered his assault rifle at the rapidly approaching Delta vehicles while screaming at the top of his lungs as if that was going to make his aim any better. Kyle's aim was right on target though, as several high caliber slugs slammed through the stone and into the screaming junky. A geyser of blood and tissue spurted into the air as the maniac disappeared from sight.

Meanwhile Brett angled the 240 upward at a guard tower. With power to the camp now non-existent, the two occupants were shooting blindly. Triggering the light machine gun, Brett fired a volley at the tower throwing one of the guards backwards as six high velocity round found their mark. The other guard glanced at his expiring comrade for a split second. That was all Brett needed to fire another burst at the tower, gunning the second thug down. A rocket from another FAV finished the tower off.

At that moment, Brett heard another motor running, much louder than the FAVs he and his Delta comrades were using. Up ahead another BTR-80 appeared out of the darkness, and fired its heavy machine gun at them. "Heads up!" he shouted, but the driver had already seen the behemoth coming at them and swerved to avoid the incoming fire.

Fire from the vehicle's light machine gun chased after them and the driver had to swerve again to avoid it. Kyle returned fire, forcing the light gunner to duck. But by then, the heavy gun was tracking them again. Once again, the driver turned sharply to avoid incoming fire. "A little help here," Brett shouted into the radio.

Right on cue, another FAV fired a rocket that slammed into the heavy gun turret and took it out while a second rocket struck the APC in the rear. With its engine damaged, the lumbering vehicle started to slow down. Kyle's M2 shredded a couple of the tires while a third rocket ended the APC's motor.

The Russian-built vehicle lurched to a stop and two terrorists popped out of the top hatches only to meet instant death from Brett's 240. Meanwhile the side hatch opened and two more terrorists jumped out, firing as they came. However, they weren't looking to see what they were firing at and Kyle hosed them down with the Ma Deuce. A following FAV tossed a grenade through the hatch, killing any terrorists that remained inside.

With the BTR out of commission, Brett spotted the commander of Troop Two approaching in another FAV. "There's Jenkins," he said to the driver. "He'll follow us in." Brett's FAV was the first into the temple courtyard and a hail of gunfire met them. But the terrorists were quickly overwhelmed as more FAVs followed and other Delta commandos on foot came over the wall.

Several of the remaining Final Legion hoodlums fired at the Delta Force from atop Kuznetsov's hut. Kyle returned the favor and ripped one of the goons apart with the M2. A TOW rocket launched from another FAV slammed into the hut itself and blasted it to bits. The resulting fireball incinerated what was left of it and sent flaming bodies in all directions.

Most of the remaining Final Legion terrorists were starting to retreat into the temple. Near the stairs that led into the temple, four terrorists in a foxhole armed with PKM machine guns desperately tried to stop the advancing Delta Force commandos. Brett returned fire as bullets ricocheted off the FAV all around him. One of the enemy machine gunners fell with a dozen slugs in him as an explosion from an M3 forcefully ejected the other three from the foxhole.

A few stubborn holdouts had gathered near a jeep and were trying to set up another PKM machine gun. But there were so many Delta commandos around by this time, they never had a chance. Brett navigated the 240 across their position and gunned down two of them while Kyle took out a third with the M2. A grenade was then hurled into the jeep that blew the frame right off the axles.

That did it. However many Final Legion terrorists were left in the courtyard started retreating inside the temple. "Fall back," one of them yelled frantically. "Nothing can stop them!"

Brett discharged the remainder of the 240's ammo belt at the retreating terrorists, shooting one down at the bottom of the stairs. A couple others turned in a futile attempt to delay the inevitable Delta assault on the temple. Both of them were mercilessly gunned down by machine gun fire and the rest temporarily escaped into the temple.

Brett's FAV stopped and all three occupants jumped out. Raising his Mk 17 rifle he shouted, "Move out!" Kyle and dozens more Delta commandos followed him as he ascended the stairs to the temple's entrance.

And yet, even as he focused his thoughts on completing the mission, Brett couldn't help shaking the feeling that there was something else other than the hostages he was supposed to find in this place.


	4. Soldier of Helios, Chapter 3

**Soldier of Helios – Chapter 3**

_Planet Earth, Somewhere in Nepal_

_Inside the Temple_

A muffled explosion from somewhere outside shook the entire temple and Kuznetsov nearly fell. Damn. Whoever these guys that were attacking were, they were serious about their mission. But then, if he'd been on their side, he would've been serious about rescuing the hostages too. Damned American Special Forces.

That was why he had to get to the Dalai Lama before these American interlopers ruined everything. Before they could successfully rescue him, he had to get the Dalai Lama to open that sealed door. He had to have the secrets of this temple. Perhaps then he could turn the tables on these cursed invaders. But even if not, at least with the secrets safe in his hands, he could begin part two of his master plan to bring Russia, and indeed the world, to its knees.

Unsteady on his legs due to the large amount of cocaine in his system, he stumbled around a corner but was unable to prevent himself from colliding with a wall. He groaned painfully as he knew the impact against his shoulder would eventually result in a bruise. Steadying himself as best he could under the circumstances, Kuznetsov continued down the corridor.

Though the temple may have been ancient and the outside may have been ruined, it sure didn't look ancient and ruined on the inside. Despite the edges being chipped and no longer as lustrous as they may have once been, the floor tiles were in astonishingly good shape as were the walls. Whoever occupied this temple in ancient times had gone to great lengths to assure its preservation.

Maybe one day he'd figure out which ancient civilization had occupied this temple? Bah. Who cared? All he needed right now was the Dalai Lama and his help in obtaining the temple's secrets. Whoever had left them behind could burn in the annals of history for all he cared. Whatever civilization that had once been here, obviously hadn't been fit enough to survive to modern times, so what good was learning about them going to do now?

Kuznetsov staggered into a large area that he guessed had perhaps once been a dormitory and winced painfully. He'd hurt his shoulder more than he originally thought and he was going to need some more of his stuff later on to dull the pain if it got any worse. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on something else.

Another explosion shook the temple some more. Right, focusing on getting rid of the invaders was what he had to do.

Since he'd first set up this camp, the ancient dormitory had been converted into a prison wing with numerous cells. Though it was hardly what one might call maximum security, the steel cages did their job and the guards made sure everyone was quiet and didn't get any bright notions of breaking out. Not that they'd get very far if they did.

As Kuznetsov began making his way around the prison cages, he spotted three guards clustered together with spooked expressions on their faces. "What are you three doing in here," he roared angrily as he marched up to them. "Don't you hear what's happening out there?! The Americans are attacking the temple! Get out there and help defend it!"

"Well... yes, we've heard what's happening," one of the panicked guards stammered. "But..."

"But, we've got these prisoners to guard," another stated. "What if they were to get free in the middle of the battle?"

"Whether they get free or not won't matter if we're overrun," Kuznetsov screamed. "Now go!"

"But sir..." the second guard began.

Kuznetsov never gave him a chance to finish, quickly drawing his 9mm pistol and shooting him point-blank in the head. Some of the nearby caged hostages witnessed the act and screamed in horror. As the body fell backwards, Kuznetsov addressed the other two guards. "Now are either of you going to remain defiant?"

Both guards furiously shook their heads in the negative.

"Good." He re-holstered his weapon. "Get out of here and don't let me see either of you again until those invading American bastards are dead! Understand?!"

For a response, both guards scampered away, figuring they had a better chance of survival facing the Americans than their leader's wrath. Kuznetsov marched onward towards the one cell that only he had a key for. The cell that held the key to the prize.

Neither he, nor the fleeing guards noticed the key ring being lifted off of the one Kuznesov had shot.

The hostages occupying the cages whimpered in fear and shied away as the fearsome Russian passed them, fearful of what else the crazed terrorist leader was capable of doing. But he paid them absolutely no attention. He maneuvered his way between the cages, ignoring the cries of alarm until he came upon one slightly larger than the others located in a dark corner.

The figure inside was facing away from him and calmly sitting lotus-style with his head bowed and hands clasped in meditation. It was something he often did when left alone in this place. Despite being nearly 80 years of age and dressed in simple dark red and golden yellow robes, there was nevertheless an air power and superiority about him that few others could compare to. Certainly not Kuznetsov though he arrogantly believed otherwise.

Even so, the former Russian soldier had to admit there was something awe inspiring about the man, even if he was locked in a cage. Something mysterious. Something peaceful yet hinting at a strength no one could ever guess existed.

After a moment, the Dalai Lama raised his head but didn't turn around. "I know you're back there so there's no point in being silent," he said in heavily accented English. "Why do you come to me this time? No young girls to satiate your disgusting and amoral desires?"

If it had been anyone else saying that to him, Kuznetsov would shot them to death without a second thought. And once he had the temple's secrets, he'd do just that. But until then, he had to grit his teeth and put up with the Dalai Lama's insults. It was the only way he'd get what he wanted.

He unlocked the cage and drew his pistol. Waving it at the powerful religious leader, he said, "Let's go. You're coming with me."

"To where?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

Kuznetsov snorted. Very well, if the Dalai Lama wanted to play a game, he could oblige for a while. "You already know the reason why. We've discussed it before. There is a mystical seal prohibiting entrance into the final chamber of this temple. You know how to remove it. You are going to do so for me."

"Yes, we have," the Dalai Lama replied. "Mystical seal you say? Very interesting. Most people would also say very absurd and question your sanity. Yet I believe you for I have felt the power permeating the very walls of this temple." He opened his eyes and reached into his robe to put on his glasses, the one concession Kuznetsov had allowed him. He then stood and faced his captor. "Be that as it may, I do not know any way to remove this mystical seal you keep on about. And even if I did, as I have stated quite plainly before, I will not do anything to help you."

Kuznetsov's eyes widened. What drove people so obviously inferior to be so defiant was lost on him. "What was that?"

"Are you hard of hearing barbarian?" Like everyone else, the Dalai Lama was aware of the explosions outside but he was the only one of the captives to correctly deduce that their captors were under attack. "I can feel this temple's great power and it is obvious that this temple has denied you access to the power nexus in that final chamber for a reason. That reason is your heart, your mind and your soul are permanently corrupted and not in line with each other or the universe. I refuse to distort that in any way, shape or form."

"Who do you think is in control right now, Your so-called Holiness?" Kuznetsov said aiming the gun at him.

_Certainly not you,_ the Dalai Lama thought. Aside from the attack outside, he could also clearly see the wild, glassed over look in his captor's eyes. No question he was either drunk, stoned or both. "Just what do you hope to gain from that final chamber?"

Kuznetsov shrugged. "As you said... the power that it contains. The power to turn my enemies to dust. What else I hope to gain from it? I don't know and frankly, at the moment, I don't care. We shall see what happens in the future. What I do know is that you're going to help me get it whether you want to or not."

"And if I once again refuse, like I have so many times already?"

The Russian's grip on his weapon tightened and he cocked it. "Then you shall stand there and watch as I execute a hostage. And I shall continue to execute hostages until I either run out of them, or you submit to my wishes. Now what's it to be?"

The Dalai Lama sighed resignedly. "Very well barbarian... lead me to wherever you wish to take me. It shall still do you no good."

With a triumphant smile on his face, Kuznetsov ushered the Dalai Lama out of his cell. "We'll see about that."

The Dalai Lama's grin could only best be described as feral and perhaps even vicious. "Indeed we shall."

_12 Minutes into Operation Shadow Hawk_

Even though the stairs leading from the outside into the temple was barely wide enough to fit three people, the entryway itself was wider than anyone in the Delta Force assault team had expected. Nearly a hundred feet wide, the entryway immediately led to a tall archway that spanned its entire width and up a short flight of steps to a larger open room.

This larger room had several ruined short pedestals where Brett assumed a number of statues had once stood. A larger pedestal was in the center of the room with odd shapes and symbols around it and a reasonably intact statue still stood atop it. Several Final Legion terrorists used it and the surrounding debris for cover.

Brett triggered his rifle, gunning down a terrorist moving between pedestals. Another returned fire from behind a second pedestal and someone cried out in pain. Brett glanced back to his right and saw Jenkins, commander of Troop Two, go down writhing in pain. "Frank," he yelled. Without a second thought, he crouch-ran over to the downed officer.

Kyle caught a glimpse of his friend making his move and laid down suppressing fire. A Final Legion thug foolishly exposed himself too much and took a half dozen slugs in his chest. "How is he?" Kyle yelled over the gunfire.

"Just a flesh wound in the leg," Brett called back. He yanked a bandage from a pocket and started to pressure tie it to Jenkins's wound. "But he's not going to be dancing anytime soon, that's for sure."

"Yuck, yuck," Jenkins said even as he winced in pain. "Ow... shit that burns!"

Brett gave him a morphine injection. Every Delta Force commando carried one for just such a purpose. That would make Jenkins forget about the pain... and everything else... for a while. He finished tying the bandage to Jenkins's leg. "Give me your ammo and grenades," he said after completing the work. "You aren't going to need them anymore."

"Yeah, sure," Jenkins said dizzily. The morphine was already having an effect on him. "Take whatever you need captain."

A bullet ricocheted off the wall directly above them and Brett instinctively recoiled slightly. He gathered up six rifle clips, three pistol clips and two frag grenades from his wounded comrade, then turned and whistled to two others. "Get Jenkins to the evac point now!"

As they dragged Jenkins back out of the temple, Brett moved to a cover position at the edge of the archway as a couple more bullets whined off the stone above his head. This was not a good situation. If they weren't able to get out of this bottleneck, it was entirely possible that these Final Legion bastards would overwhelm them, even if their numbers were inferior.

"Grenades," he said, pulling the pin from one that he got from Jenkins. "Use them!"

He let the mini-bomb fly and it landed not far away from the large statue in the center of the room. A half dozen more grenades followed the first one. The resulting blasts ripped eight Final Legion goons to pieces and took a chunk out of the one statue still standing in the center of the room.

With Jenkins out of action, Brett found himself to be the ranking officer in the assault team. As the grenade blasts died away, he moved up the stairs and shot down a terrorist that had survived the blasts, albeit with three pieces of shrapnel in his gut. "Move!" Brett shouted. "Go! Go!"

Kyle and more than two dozen Delta commandos followed Brett up the giant stairs. Two terrorists appeared out of a side corridor to the left and were promptly mowed down before they even got a chance to raise their rifles. Up ahead, another, much smaller archway led to a long corridor. A single Final Legion goon poked his head from behind it only to have Kyle blow the top of his skull off.

As the body collapsed in the doorway, a second Final Legion nut stepped into the open. Shouting out the top of his lungs, he pulled the trigger of his sub machine gun, determined to take out as many of the Delta Force commandos as he could. He barely got two shots off before Brett shot him in the head three times.

Not only was there a corridor branching left from the statue room, there was another branching off from the right. Brett tapped one of his comrades on the shoulder and pointed at the right corridor. "Take five men and head down that corridor."

"Yes sir," the commando replied as he gathered his team.

Brett then took cover behind the giant statue in the center of the room. Looking to his left, he pointed to another Delta comrade. "You… take five men and go that way," he ordered pointing down the left corridor.

"Moving sir."

With this all-too brief lull in the fight, Brett got his first really good look at the temple interior. It was odd. Though the crumbled statues, cracked walls and dusty floors suggested how ancient it was, there were other things present that defied that logic. And as he looked over the immediate surroundings, Brett couldn't help but wonder just what kind of people had once occupied this temple.

Despite the power generator being nothing more than rubble now, as far as he could see, the temple interior was still brightly lit. The only source of that illumination appeared to be numerous light panels mounted high in the walls. Not only that, but there were also several groups of glowing stalactites hanging from the ceiling. They didn't appear to be naturally occurring as their inverted conical shape was too perfect for that.

He also got his first look at the statue that he, Kyle and a couple others were using as cover. Without question it was that of a warrior, but it was unlike any warrior Brett, or any of them, had ever seen before. Although the figure appeared human, he was dressed in robes and his head shrouded by a hood. He stood in a sort of guard stance with his feet slightly apart and a sword in his hands. The blade of it was pointed downward and it seemed to be cylindrical in shape.

What the hell kind of a sword was that? Brett's martial arts training had long made him proficient in the arts of kendo and iaido but he had never seen a sword blade like that before. Weird. Only one room past the entryway and already nothing about this ancient temple made any sense. _What the hell were you expecting Brett, _he asked himself. _It is ancient after all._

As if that wasn't enough, the murmurs and voices Brett had been hearing since before the raid got started, were getting more pronounced. Why the hell were these noises and voices bugging him? Was he going crazy or what?

_Get your head out of your ass and back in the game,_ Brett scolded himself. _There's still plenty of Final Legion scum to deal with here and no hostages have been secured yet._ He tapped another of his Delta buddies on the shoulder. "You and five others stay here and keep this room secure. We don't need any surprises catching us from behind."

"You got it captain."

"All right, the rest of you, follow me," Brett ordered. He raised his rifle and hurried forward through the next archway into the long corridor.

The long hallway was lined with massive stone support columns that, at one time, had been finely polished and smooth. And while they were no longer as shiny as they might have once been, they were still in very good condition, firmly supporting the ceiling and providing good cover for the Final Legion terrorists and Delta counter-terrorists alike.

Brett and Kyle each took cover positions behind two of the columns and held their ground and several more Delta commandos moved up, adopting a classic "fire and advance tactic". Sporadic automatic gunfire erupted here and there as the occasional assailant dared to show his presence. Brett and Kyle each recorded one more terrorist kill before they and several others advanced past the first group.

A terrorist appeared directly ahead of Brett as he moved and tried to fire a light machine gun at the Delta commandos. He never got his finger around the trigger as Brett fired a burst into the thug's chest and another into his head. Meanwhile, across the hall, Kyle blasted another one in the back that was foolishly trying a fire and retreat maneuver without the covering fire.

They took protected positions again and waved the second group forward. As they did so, Brett took a split second glance at the relief carvings that decorated the walls. Each one was again of a person that appeared human, some male in appearance, some female. All were wearing the same kinds of robes featured on the large statue one room back, but not all of them had a hood drawn over the head.

Not all of them featured that curious looking sword either. Some of the carvings featured figures in various meditative poses while others appeared to be in deep thought and contemplation. One of them even appeared to have a ball of some kind suspended in mid-air just above his outstretched hand. _They must've been warrior monks,_ Brett mused. _But what's with the suspended ball?_

Some of those odd symbols were carved into the wall at each picture. They were the same as the symbols he'd seen on the pedestal back in the statue room but different than the ones on the document he's recovered. A language of some kind, but what it actually said was anybody's guess.

He put it out of his mind as once more Brett, Kyle and the first group moved up while the second group covered their advance. Some terrorists retreated further into the temple while others shielded their exit. A cry of pain echoed somewhere behind him and Brett knew one of his Delta companions had been hit. It pained him immensely but he had no choice but to let someone else tend to the injuries.

He got behind another giant support column just as several bullets tore chunks out of the stone just above his head. Brett crouched slightly and hissed through his teeth. That had been close. Across the wide corridor, Kyle shot down the offender with a well-placed burst.

Up ahead, two corridors again split off from the main one, each one going in an opposite direction as the other. Brett made a hand signal to Kyle and they each heaved a grenade into one of the side halls. There was a short scream of brief suffering as the one Kyle threw detonated but only silence accompanied the blast of the second.

Brett waved group two forward again and motioned for them to keep an eye out for a possible ambush. But the only thing they saw was the dead terrorist Kyle's grenade had killed. Group one then moved to the next set of columns where Brett directed a small team to head down the right corridor and second team to go down the left one.

The group moved forward again and Brett shot a terrorist dead who tried to get the jump on them. Kyle blasted another that was trying to prime a grenade and two more Delta commandos ganged up on a third Final Legion hooligan. The grenade that the terrorist had been trying to prime suddenly blew and a sizzling white hot piece of shrapnel cut across Kyle's upper arm.

"Gah… shit!" he yelled.

Before them, yet another small flight of steps led to a third archway and a continuation of the hallway beyond. Upon seeing his seeing his friend wounded, Brett immediately moved to a position at the steps. "Covering fire!"

Three other Delta commandos joined him at the stairs and scanned the hallway ahead. One terrorist moving between positions was caught in the upper leg and he went down screaming. Brett shot another one in the neck and he pitched over onto his back. As the terrorist toppled over, he lost his grip on a grenade he had been preparing to throw and landed on top of it. A second later the blast launched the contents of his chest cavity ten feet into the air.

Meanwhile, a Delta medic trooper tended to Kyle's superficial, but painful wound. He dusted it with a little sulfonamide to promote clotting and prevent infection. The medic then wrapped a bandage around it and tightly secured it. Kyle winced from the pain. "Here," he said. "Let me give you some morphine for the pain."

"Put that damn vial back in your pocket," Kyle ordered. "You're not sending me to the evac point just because of a goddamn scratch!"

The Delta medic smiled wryly. "Yes sir."

"You okay?" Brett called back.

"Fine," Kyle replied as he moved to rejoin the group. "But it burns like hell."

Brett smirked. Yep, he was fine.

The Delta team moved further up the hallway, only encountering a couple more terrorists as they hurried along. And in short order they came to a wide, but simple doorway that led into a circular room. Two corridors appeared to loop around the room and extend further into the temple.

"Guarding" the doorway were two tall identical statues of gaunt looking people with long, but narrow heads. The statue on the left side of the doorway had its left arm hanging naturally while the right arm was raised above the head. The right hand held a long polearm of some kind in a vertical position. The statue on the right side of the door was a mirror image of the other.

"What the hell are those?" Kyle wondered.

"Hell if I know," Brett replied. He quickly counted heads and tallied eighteen including Kyle and himself. "All right, flash bangs first," he said, then pointed out two teams. "Then you four go around the right passage and you four go around the left passage. Kyle, myself and the rest of us will head straight in that door. Everyone ready?"

There were hand signals of affirmation all around.

Brett counted down from three on his fingers, then yanked his first down hard. On that signal, several flash grenades were thrown far up the circular corridors and everyone shielded themselves from the blasts. Despite his wound, Kyle also threw one through the doorway and Brett tossed in a second one behind it. As they started to go off, Brett gave the signal to move.

Despite having Kuznetsov's gun trained on his back, the Dalai Lama kept an intentionally slow pace as he was forced through the temple hallways. The big Russian was getting impatient however, and poked the barrel of his weapon threateningly. "Faster. Faster! Keep moving."

The Dalai Lama sighed. "Just what are you expecting by doing that?"

"I am expecting you to do exactly as you are told," Kuznetsov shouted. "Now move faster and quit your stalling!"

"No matter how much you threaten me barbarian, you still will not get whatever it is you are looking for in that room," the Dalai Lama told him.

"I will get whatever the hell I damn well wish to get," the Russian raged. "And I will get my hands on whatever is on the other side of that door. Whether or not I choose to give it to my employer… well that's something else entirely."

The Dalai Lama found Kuznetsov's comment rather intriguing. "Employer you say? So you aren't doing this of your own free will? Very interesting."

"Perhaps. But it will not matter to you much longer nor was it ever your concern to begin with."

"Have you ever considered the possibility that your employer may eventually betray you," the Dalai Lama wondered. "Assuming that you do somehow manage to gain access to the final room… which, of course, you will not."

Kuznetsov chuckled. "Of course I have holy man. Which is why I said that whether or not I choose to share whatever is in that last room with him was a subject for debate. With my hands on whatever is in that final room, he wouldn't dare try to betray me."

The Dalai Lama heard a yelp of pain some distance away and the muffled chatter of automatic weapons. "You're assuming a lot," he said. "You don't know if there truly is anything in that final room, do you? For all you know, the only thing in that room is whatever you take in there with you. That room may have always been empty or maybe someone else got there first."

"My employer assures me that is not the case."

"Again with your employer," the Dalai Lama pondered. "I do have to wonder, why did your so-called employer hire you to do his dirty work?" Why didn't he just do it himself? What's so special about him? I don't know about you, but it makes me think. "

"It is no concern of yours holy man," Kuznetsov rumbled, largely because he truthfully had no idea how else to answer. "Your only concern is giving me access to that final room so I can be assured of my victory."

"I've already told you… you do not have a chance of getting whatever your twist mind desires, so it is pointless for you to continue."

"And I have already warned you that if you continue to resist me, I shall gun down the hostages one by one until you don't resist." He raised the gun a little higher and straightened his arm. "I grow tired of this boring conversation and your slow pace. So start moving faster old man or I execute the first hostage."

The Dalai Lama stopped and turned to face Kuznetsov. "Old man?" He smiled. "Yes… old man indeed. Older than you'll ever be."

Kuznetsov blinked in confusion. "What are you rambling about now?"

"Do you really think that because I am so old, that I must be a senile idiot as well? Or that I have somehow completely take leave of my senses?" He motioned towards the front of the temple. "Do you think that I can't hear the gunfire out there, barbarian? Or that I can't see the panic on the faces of your followers? Or hear the shouts?" He clicked his tongue and shook his head in condescension. "In case you're really that stupid, let me spell it out for you barbarian… you and your followers are under attack and the attackers are already in the temple. If I know the world's governments and militaries as well as I believe I do, then it's the American Delta Force, SEAL Team 6 or the British SAS that's knocking at your door." He shrugged. "Either way, it doesn't matter because they're not here to dance with you barbarian. They're here to terminate you and every last one of your followers." A mischievous grin appeared on his face. "And I will be most pleased when they do."

Of course Kuznetsov already knew the invaders were American but he said nothing about that to his captive. "Those are rather bold and some would say rather inappropriate words coming from a holy man," he instead growled to his prisoner.

"Yes," the Dalai Lama nodded with a smile. "I am a holy man. A man of peace. I believe wholeheartedly in peace over violence. And I do believe in turning the other cheek as some would say." His smile abruptly vanished and he tapped the side of his face. "However, like every other person in this world, I have only two of them. Sooner or later, turning the other cheek becomes impossible because you run out of them. Sooner or later, every person must turn and face whatever irritants plague him and his peaceful existence."

Kuznetsov cocked his pistol and thrust it forward. "Fuck you old man."

Faster than a cheetah, the Dalai Lama swept his hands across his body in a crossing pattern, knocking Kuznetsov's arm one way and the gun the other way. He lost his grip on it and it clattered on the floor. The holy man didn't give the Russian a chance to react, punching him in the forehead and planting his foot between Kuznetsov's legs.

As he went down to his knees, the Dalai Lama smashed a forward kick into his face. Several of his teeth broke and blood spurted from his mouth. He hit the floor with a hard thud and the Dalai Lama kicked the pistol down the hallway they'd come from.

Enraged, Kuznetsov bounded to his feet and snarled angrily. Fine. If that's what the old geezer wanted, then to hell with what his mystery sponsor wanted. He was going to strangle the Dalai Lama with his bare hands and to blazes with the consequences.

The Dalai Lama assumed a non-threatening stance and put his palms together. "Think about what you're doing barbarian," he urged. "From here on, if you persist, you doom only yourself."

If Kuznetsov had been even slightly inclined to listen to the Dalai Lama's warning, his drug addled mind absolutely forbade it. With an angry shout, he rushed forward and swung two fast punches at the Buddhist leader. Yet for a 79 year old man, the Dalai Lama was still incredibly quick, easily avoiding the younger Russian's assault.

A third punch zoomed in towards the Dalai Lama's head but the elder man parried it easily and struck Kuznetsov in the armpit with a jarring nerve strike. His arm suddenly numb and feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, the Russian terrorist didn't have time to react as his opponent grabbed him by the wrist. Spinning around, the Dalai Lama brought Kuznetsov's arm over his head and back down, throwing the Russian on to his backside.

Once more the Dalai Lama assumed a peaceful stance. "Did you actually believe I was defenseless," he asked. "I have been a student of martial arts since before you were born. I let you lead me out of that cell because I knew it was the best chance I had to escape." He shook his head. "Last warning barbarian. Stand down and let us all go or be forever damned."

Kuznetsov chose the latter as his rushed to his feet and charged the holy man again. He swung a high punch that the Dalai Lama ducked under. Pivoting to the side, he returned the favor with a punch to the terrorist's stomach. As the Russian terrorist doubled over, the Dalai Lama continued his move and planted a kick between the Russian's legs from behind.

It was the second time in less than a minute the Dalai Lama had done that and blazing pain flooded the Russian's entire body. With yelp of extreme suffering, Kuznetsov's entire body tensed for a second. The Dalai Lama took that opportunity to punch his captor in the back of the head, leaving him sprawled and motionless on the floor.

"I pity you in your next life barbarian," the Dalai Lama said. "Because as the Americans are fond of saying… karma is a bitch." And with that, the Dalai Lama took off at a full sprint towards the temple entrance. Kuznetsov tried to pursue, but he was too stunned to even get up off his knees.

Triggering his Mk 17 rifle, Brett shot a Final Legion terrorist three times in the chest as he entered the circular room. It appeared to be a meeting room of some kind with twelve chairs arranged in a circular pattern like the room itself. But what was odd about the chairs was that they appeared to be part of the room. As if whoever had occupied this temple long ago had carved a pattern out of the rock and then mined it all out, leaving the chairs in place. A couple of them were semi-ruined from centuries, if not millennia of disuse, but most were reasonably intact.

The other odd thing about the room was that there were only chairs. No evidence of tables, desks or similar items was present. So it begged the question, what kind of a meeting or ritual room had this been?

A second terrorist sprang up between two chairs with a shotgun but Kyle beat him to the trigger, firing a burst into his head. Yet another one poked his head inside the doorway at the far end of the room and hurriedly fired off a shot. It ricocheted off one of the chairs and the Delta commandos dove for cover.

In a crouch run, Brett hurried to a safe post behind one of the chairs while another of his buddies moved up to the next one. Across the room, Kyle waved another comrade forward while keeping him covered. The terrorist then stuck his head through the doorway again only to get several bullets and a blast of double ought buck square in the face from several Delta operators. The contents of the Final Legion goon's head were blasted all over the hallway behind him.

Holding position until other Delta troopers could scan the hallway beyond, Kyle briefly glanced around the room. He nudged the chair he was stationed next to and it didn't even budge, confirming Brett's belief that the chairs and the floor were all part of the same piece of rock. "What do you suppose this was?" he wondered aloud.

"Conference room or maybe even some kind of ritual chamber," Brett replied. "But what was actually done in here and by who is anyone's guess."

"Don't shoot!" a male voice spoke sharply. "Don't shoot!"

"Captain," another Delta trooper called back. "Over here sir."

Brett moved forward to the doorway with Kyle at his heels. There in the corridor about twenty feet away was an old man in dark red and gold robes. He knelt calmly on the floor with his hands behind his head.

"Your Holiness," Brett exclaimed. He and Kyle both rushed into the corridor, helped the Dalai Lama to his feet and quickly ushered him back into the circular chamber. Once inside, Brett asked, "Your Holiness, are you all right?"

The Dalai Lama smiled. "I am fine honored warriors," he replied. "And I am grateful that you are all here to rescue the hostages and me."

"No need to thank us Your Holiness," Brett said. "It's our duty. What about the other hostages? Where are they?"

"There were many kept in the same area I was," the Dalai Lama answered. He pointed back down the corridor from where he'd come. "Further down that way, you'll find the corridor splits into three other passages. I was kept in a make shift cell bay down the right corridor. The center corridor leads to a large stone door and what's beyond that is unknown to me. I also do not know what lies down the left passage."

"How many hostages remain up there?"

"Between thirty and forty," the Dalai Lama replied.

At that moment, a radio call came in from one of the other teams moving through the temple. "Delta Two here… have secured fifteen hostages. No further resistance encountered in this area. Moving to evac point."

"Copy Delta Two," the squadron commander responded. "Delta One, report."

For the moment, Brett ignored the command and instead, asked the Dalai Lama one more question. "What about Kuznetsov?"

"I left him back in the corridor junction a moment or two ago," he answered. "But he was still quite capable of fighting and I cannot say whether or not he's still there."

Brett nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the eight Delta troopers he'd sent through the corridors that wrapped around the circular conference room, start to gather in the hallway while scanning for potential targets. He tapped Kyle on the chest. "You and me will join them," Brett said pointing to the Delta troops in the corridor. "The rest of you, get His Holiness to the evac point. Now."

One of the other Delta commandos ushered the Dalai Lama back towards the entrance. "Let's go sir, we've got to get you out of here," he said.

"Delta One, report," the squadron commander's irritated voice echoed over the radio.

"Delta One here," Brett finally acknowledged his commander. "His Holiness has been secured and is being moved to evac. A number of hostages still unaccounted for. Unknown number of terrorists still at large. Aadinath Kuznetsov still at large. Moving to secure remaining hostages and eliminate remaining resistance."

"Get on with it then," the squadron commander grumbled.

"Yes sir," Brett answered. He and Kyle moved out of the meeting chamber and motioned for their remaining Delta buddies to follow. As they did, Brett got on the radio again. "Statue room guard team, this is Captain Hudson. Move forward and link up with me and bring satchel charges so we can access the final chamber."

"One our way Captain," the response came.

Kyle gave Brett a quizzical glance.

"I got a feeling Kuznetsov is holed up in there. And if he's not going to open the door for us, we'll need to knock… unit style."

It didn't take the group long to reach the corridor junction where the Dalai Lama said he'd left Kuznetsov. Indeed there was some blood on the floor indicating the Dalai Lama had struggled with the terrorist leader in order to get away. Yet there was no sign of the Russian now.

"Okay the bastard is still at large," Brett stated the obvious. "No telling where he is but we've got to find him." He selected four of the remaining Delta commandos. "You guys go that way," he said pointing down the right passage. "Secure all remaining hostages. You four go that way. Clear that passage."

"Hey, that just leaves you and me," Kyle protested.

"I know," Brett said as the teams moved out. "That's why I called for the guard team back in the statue room to help us. We'll need their help to breach the door ahead and they'll be our backup once we do."

Kyle raised his rifle. "Let's go then."

The pair moved up the final hall and approached the massive twin stone doors that blocked the entrance to what Brett supposed was the temple's inner shrine. Together, the carving on the doors portrayed a picture of a human figure. The left portrayed the figure as female while the right portrayed it as male.

Regardless of the gender, the figure was clothed in the same robes and hoods seen numerous times around the temple already. Its arms were stretched out a bit and the palms faced upward. Behind it, a large fiery ball like the sun appeared to shine brightly. Most notable about the door carving was that the face was a smiling expression of contentment and harmony.

Brett was about to stop and wait for the rest of guard team he'd summoned when there was a subtle flash of blue light. After that, the doors suddenly creaked, lurched and slowly swung open, granting the pair access to the inner shrine. He was shocked and looked over at Kyle. "What did you do?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

They both paused at the now open entrance and peeked inside. "What do you think?" Kyle asked.

"Well, we really should wait for the backup I summoned," Brett stated proper procedure. "But if Kuznetsov is in there, he could be planning some kind of a counter attack."

"Or he could also be escaping," Kyle pointed out.

"That too. And assuming he is, do we want to take the chance that he gets away and does something like this again in the future?"

"We're members of the Unit," Kyle reminded him. "Giving scum like this a chance to get away is not part of our mission nor is it why we even exist."

"I know that," Brett said. "Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

Kyle smirked at his friend and raised his rifle. "After you Captain Amtrak."

With his own rifle at the ready, Brett entered the inner shrine with Kyle right behind him.

After being soundly beaten by the Dalai Lama, Kuznetsov had managed to limp away from the scene. Damn it all to hell. Everything was falling apart. His benefactor still hadn't shown up, his Final Legion organization was being slaughtered, the Dalai Lama had escaped, the Americans were freeing the hostages and he still hadn't found a way into the final chamber.

Hiding in a darkened alcove within eyeshot of where the Dalai Lama had made his escape, he watched as a team of American commandos gathered in the area. He sighed deeply and a brief moment of clarity returned to him. He was alone and there was no way he could take out all those commandos by himself so he'd just have to wait out the attack here. He'd lose everything but at least after these American interlopers had departed he could make his own escape. Where he'd go after that was anyone's guess but he'd disappeared before. He could do it again. He just had to be patient.

Kuznetsov looked again and saw the apparent commander of the group issued some orders to the others. And with that, the group split into three teams. One group headed towards where the remaining hostages were and the second was moving down the hallway where he was hiding. The Final Legion commander held his breath and remained motionless as they approached.

Fortunately for him, the Americans failed to spot him in the alcove and they moved down the hall and around a far corner without incident. And when he checked the area again, only the American commander and one other remained.

Before Kuznetsov could do anything, the two Americans moved down the corridor towards the sealed doors. He couldn't help but smile. If he couldn't get past that doorway, how the hell were they going to do it? The answer was simple, they weren't. And since there were only two of them now and not ten, he figured he could eliminate those two and be back in the alcove before anyone saw him. Maybe he couldn't take out the enemy commando team after all, but he could take out a couple of its members.

He reached down and retrieved the RPG7 rocket launcher he'd been able to find. Actually he'd taken it from the body of dead comrade who'd become so terrified and disoriented by the events, he'd outright refused to use it. Kuznetsov had broken the coward's neck for that which was rather ironic considering that until fifteen seconds earlier, he hadn't really planned to use it either.

Checking the halls once again, he slowly crept out of his hiding place and made his way back towards the corridor junction. He peered down the passage leading to the massive stone doors and watched the two Americans approach it. Kuznetsov was just starting to raise the rocket launcher and take them out when the doors, without any warning or effort, swung open.

The Russian terrorist leader quickly checked his fire and looked on in wide-eyed amazement. How had that happened? It wasn't possible. After all his efforts to break down and / or blow up those damn doors, they'd just simply parted for the two Americans? It didn't make any sense. What the hell was so special about them?

_Why the hell do I care, _Kuznetsov wondered. _What I've been trying to get the Dalai Lama to do for so long, these two Americans have just done for me and I didn't have to force them to do it. Finally, the secrets of this temple are within my grasp. _He couldn't help but laugh to himself. _Guess that stupid Dalai Lama was wrong about me never getting into that room after all._ And he cautiously followed the American pair inside.

The inner temple was a massive cylindrical room that was three times the diameter of the previous conference room and no less than four stories in total height. Cut from a stone more brown in color than the rest of the temple, it featured a wide balcony that started at the entrance and wrapped around the entire chamber, save for the stairway on the opposite side of the entrance leading down. That was a little odd, but Brett wasn't about to start contemplating the architectural design of the place.

In a crouched walk, Brett maneuvered his way down the right side of the balcony while Kyle headed around the left. No terrorists appeared and he didn't hear any suspicious sounds from below either. Maybe they'd eliminated all of Final Legion's members?

_Check that,_ Brett reminded himself. _Kuznetsov is still out there somewhere._

He linked up with Kyle again near the top of the stairs where his friend shrugged, indicating he too hadn't run into any trouble. As if the lack of gunfire hadn't been a dead giveaway. From a kneel, Brett counted down from three and the two of them turned into the stairwell. Nothing was waiting for them at the bottom, so they both quickly checked the sides of the stairs for anyone that might have been waiting for them.

"I got nothing here," Brett reported.

"Same here."

With Brett covering him, Kyle rushed down the steps to the bottom and scanned all angles. Nothing jumped out at him and Brett joined him at the bottom of the stairs.

The bottom floor of the inner shrine featured twelve more statues similar to the ones they'd encountered elsewhere. And just like before, around each base supporting it were odd characters in a language Brett couldn't make heads or tails of. On the floor itself Brett noticed thousands, perhaps millions of tiny cracks, fissures and impact marks all radiating outward from a circular altar in the very center of the floor

The altar was about six feet in diameter with flat, highly polished white stone on top. The sides of it were decorated with more carvings of the robe wearing people seen all over the temple as well as more of that bizarre language.

After scanning the area for a few seconds, Brett said, "I don't see anything."

"Me either," Kyle answered.

"All right, one more sweep around," Brett ordered. "Let's go."

As Brett started to walk among the statues, those damn irritating voices started to bug him again. He cringed. They were louder than ever now and he still had no idea what they were saying. Or did he? It seemed like they were saying that he was right where he was supposed to be. That from this point on, his true destiny awaited him. What the hell did they mean by that?

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. But it was no use, they were still there. And yet, he found the voices oddly comforting and soothing. He rolled his eyes. Maybe it was time for him to retire. He sure as hell didn't relish the thought of spending the rest of his life talking about nothing to various so-called cuckoo experts.

_Try selling the fact that you're suddenly hearing comforting voices to someone, numbnuts,_ Brett told himself. _That'll get you locked up in the loony bin faster than you can bat an eye._

Linking up with Kyle again, Brett gave the entire shrine one final glance and said, "I'm clear here. Looks like there's only one way in or out of this place."

"Me too," Kyle reported. "Either Kuznetsov already got away or he's elsewhere in the temple. We'd better alert the other teams."

"What the hell?" Brett said in a dumbfounded tone. "Would you look at that."

"What," Kyle wondered, followed Brett's stare and his eyes widened. In the center of the room, hovering in mid-air three feet above the altar, was a small square cube. "What the?"

Brett approached the altar and stared up at the little box. How the hell had he and Kyle missed it until now? As Kyle stood next to him, Brett swept his arm under the cube and passed right underneath without disturbing it. He then swept his arm over it with the same result. Finally he waved both arms all around it in an effort to get the cube to move, fall, something. But it remained rooted in place in mid-air.

The two of them exchanged surprised glances. "What the hell is that thing and how the hell is it floating like that?" Kyle asked.

"How the hell do I know," Brett said. "I've never seen anything like it before either."

The cube was about the size of a softball and made from very highly polished dark blue stone. A gold metal framework of various geometric shapes surrounded the cube on all sides and somehow seemed to be fused with the stone. Brett reached out to touch it but Kyle grabbed his arm. "Whoa there buddy, you don't know what that's going to do."

As Brett pulled his hand away, the cube suddenly started to move. The dark blue stone it was made from began to glow a pleasant shade of light blue. Brett and Kyle both drew their sidearms. "What the hell is it doing Kyle?"

"Like you said a moment ago, how the hell do I know?"

The cube spun around a few times before floating forward and stopping in front of Kyle. It then bounced up and down slightly, uttering a series of unintelligible grunts, mumbles and other sounds as did. "What the hell?" Kyle asked no one in particular.

Again the cube repeated the grunts.

"What's it doing?"

The cube gave up and floated in front of Brett where proceed to once again repeat the strange combination of grunts and groans. "What? What does this thing want?" He looked straight at the cube. "What do you want?"

In response, the cube said something a little different and began to glow even brighter. Both men watched in stunned silence as the cube pulled back a short distance and the eight corners separated from it. They moved further away from it and began to spin about in the air. The cube, now a cuboctahedron, spun around Brett's head a couple times.

Kyle raised his pistol to shoot it but Brett stopped him. "No, don't do anything! It doesn't appear to be threatening in any way. Just let it do its thing... whatever that is."

"But Brett..."

"Damn it that's an order Kyle," Brett yelled. "Leave it alone. We don't know what it'll do, including what might happen if we shoot it." He intentionally omitted the part where he had, for a split second, understood what the bizarre little thing had said, and that it meant them no harm.

The cuboctahedron finally stopped in front of him again and the tiny square side on top opened up. Before either of them could react, a small crystal rose up out of it. A translucent grayish-white, it was attached to an extremely small clamp. The cuboctahedron then floated forward and a tiny mechanical arm extended from it, offering the crystal to Brett.

"Why is this thing offering me a rock?"

For an answer, the cuboctahedron uttered a new series of grunts.

Brett addressed the item directly. "Why should take this? What I am supposed to do with it?"

The device moved towards him a little further and repeated its series of grunts.

Brett holstered his pistol and cautiously took the crystal from the object. Eyeing it curiously, he easily determined it to be about the length of a quarter and the width of a dime. It didn't look like a diamond or any other crystal he was familiar with. But then, Brett's knowledge of gemology was virtually non-existent.

The cuboctahedron retracted its tiny mechanical arm and moved back to the point where it had been hovering above the center of the altar. In the meantime, Brett looked over at Kyle. "So now I got a rock," he said humorlessly as he dropped it into his pocket. "What the hell am I supposed to do with it?"

"What I'd like to know, is why I don't get a prize," Kyle said with a grin.

"Har, har," Brett grumbled.

Above the altar, the corners that had separated from the cuboctahedron reattached themselves to it, allowing it to become a basic cube once more. As soon as that happened, a bright yellow light burst from the cube, blinding them both for a couple seconds. "What the... what happened?" Kyle yelled but Brett didn't answer.

When he was able to focus his eyes again, Kyle saw the cube glowing a bright yellow and a thin beam of light extending out from it. That light was shining in Brett's direction and a series of bizarre symbols was flashing on his forehead. His body was rigid and he appeared to be in some kind of trance. "Brett? Brett!"

He didn't answer.

Kyle raised his sidearm. "BRETT!"

Still no answer.

_To blazes with the consequences,_ Kyle thought.

Before he could squeeze off a round though, the yellow glow faded and the cube released Brett from the hold it had on him. He pitched forward and nearly collapsed against the altar. But he caught himself and tried to get his breathing under control.

Kyle holstered his weapon, grabbed Brett by the shoulder and shook him a bit. "Hey, you okay? You with me Brett?"

Brett looked at Kyle, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He took a couple more deep breaths and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine Kyle."

"What the hell happened? I damn near shot that thing."

Brett didn't answer and glared angrily at the now docile cube. "How long did that thing have me restrained," he asked.

Kyle shrugged. "Three or four seconds. What did that thing do to you?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Brett answered. "But it forced something into my mind. Drawings, schematics, blueprints... that kind of thing. But for what I have no idea. I saw things like power cells, focusing modules and energizers. They were all linked somehow." He gestured towards the cube. "And all linked by the crystal that thing gave me somehow."

"A crystal that you shall now give to me," a threatening voice ordered.

Brett and Kyle looked up. Kuznetsov was halfway down the stairs, his RPG7 trained on them. The experienced Delta troopers glanced at one another and cursed silently for allowing the bastard to get the drop on them. "Well, well, well..." Brett said flatly. "Aadinath Kuznetsov. We were beginning to think you'd flown the coop."

The Russian terrorist ignored Brett's caustic statement. "Hands on your heads, both of you." As Brett and Kyle complied, Kuznetsov reached the bottom of the stairs. Moving slowly away from the steps, he gestured towards the cube with the RPG. "Whatever that thing gave you, it's mine."

Brett and Kyle started to move as well, searching for the best angle to take out the terrorist leader. "That's funny," Brett said. "I didn't see the name Disgusting Piece of Shit on it."

"Stop moving," Kuznetsov ordered and the Delta troops obeyed. He gestured with the RPG again. "You think I won't use this on you both. From where I'm standing, the blast will take both of you out, but I'll be unaffected."

If they wanted to survive, Brett and Kyle knew they had to keep Kuznetsov talking until the backup team arrived. "That's debatable. Even so, you fire that weapon and you'll kill us. But you'll also destroy the crystal and that thing there. So whatever knowledge that cube crammed into my head, goes bye-bye forever."

"Good point," the Russian taunted. "So you'll be coming with me then. Whatever that thing showed you, whatever it taught you to build... you will build it for me. Then the world will be mine."

Brett didn't buy that for second, especially when what the cube showed him seemed much too simple to be a world dominating weapon. He couldn't help but laugh. "Things been moving a little too fast for you dumbass? How the hell do you think you're going to get out of here?"

"Perhaps things have been moving too fast for you American pigs," Kuznetsov replied. "He thrust the muzzle of the RPG threateningly forward. "Who do you think has the advantage right now?"

"I do," Brett said confidently. "Yeah, you're armed with a rocket launcher and you can take out several of us with one shot. But you've got just that one shot. There's over a hundred commandos still crawling all over this temple. You fire that one shot, they'll light you up brighter than the sun. You try to escape, they'll light you up. You try to negotiate, they'll light you up."

"But you're armed with a rifle and a sidearm," Kuznetsov observed. "That'll be all the firepower I need to get out of here."

"Wrong asshole, my weapons stay right here," Brett retorted. "Unless you're dumb enough to try and take them from me, in which case you'll be distracted just long enough for my friend here to reduce your blood pressure to nothing. So in the end... you've got nothing asshole."

Kuznetsov realized they were stalling for time and he waved Brett forward. "I think your American friends might think differently when they see you're my hostage. Let's go. You're my ticket out of this place."

_You don't know my unit,_ Brett thought. "Blow it out your ass you son of a bitch."

The big Russian flipped the iron sight into place. "Final warning you damn asshole!"

"That's Mister Asshole to you shithead," Brett sarcastically retorted.

A blood curdling scream suddenly echoed from behind the Russian. There was brief glint of metal and Kuznetsov reared back and howled as a blazing pain surged through his body. Overcome with fury, he instinctively turned and lashed out at his unseen attacker, knocking her to the floor. It was the young Asian girl he'd had in his bed just prior to the American assault. How had she gotten free?

Events moved lightning fast after that. When Kuznetsov turned to face his surprise attacker, Brett and Kyle saw the back of his shirt was soaked in blood and a large knife sticking out of it. Instantly Kyle went for his pistol and Brett went for his rifle. Knowing what the American commandos would be doing, the Russian terrorist turned again and raised his RPG.

"Die American scum!" the Russian screamed. He launched the rocket as Brett and Kyle triggered their weapons. As the bullets tore into his chest, Kuznetsov couldn't believe his eyes as he witnessed the cube move faster than anything he'd ever seen anything move in his life. Was that damn thing protecting the Americans?

It got right in between Brett and the approaching rocket and a cocoon of white energy formed around him. An instant later the rocket hit the cube, exploding violently and sending shrapnel everywhere. Several fragments hit the energy surrounding Brett and were stopped before they were able to get close enough to harm him.

Kyle however, was not so fortunate. The explosion sent more fragments flying his direction. He cried out in agony as several were embedded in the confiscated computer and others ripped into his flesh. His pistol flew from his hand as he fell to the floor.

Brett fired his rifle again, drilling Kuznetsov three more times. A hailstorm of gunfire then struck the Russian from above as the backup team finally arrived. He sank to his knees, knowing he was about to check out of this life... the Dalai Lama's prophecy bitterly coming true. And yet, he was mesmerized by the cube as blue lightning began shooting out of it in all directions.

_What the hell,_ Brett thought. _Did that thing just save my life?_ He looked up as the cube started spewing its energy everywhere and for the first time since the mission started, he started to worry. "Talk to me Kyle," he said but Kyle didn't answer. He looked and saw Kyle lying on the floor with several pieces of shrapnel in him including one large one sticking out of his head. His eyes were glassed over and he emptily stared off into space.

"Kyle!" Brett shouted as he ran to his friend. He checked his friend for a pulse, already knowing he wouldn't find one. _Damn it,_ Brett thought. _Why him? Why Kyle?!_ With his face twisted in rage, Brett turned to face Kuznetsov and leveled his pistol at him. "YOU WORTHLESS SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!"

The cube finished off the terrorist leader before Brett could. As the dying, drug addicted ex-soldier continued to stare at the cube, a blast of red energy shot out of it, prompting him to scream in terror as it hit him directly in the face. It lasted only a second and when it faded, Kuznetsov's head was gone. Only a smoking, cauterized stump where it had once been remained.

_Jesus,_ Brett thought. He watched the body fall backwards, satisfied the Final Legion was done for, but furious that it had cost the life of his friend to being them down. This was why he did what he did. This was why he hadn't yet retired and why he would never retire. So that shit like Aadinath Kuznetsov got exactly what they deserved... a one way ticket to eternal damnation.

The shaking of the floor got Brett's attention. The lightning and energy erupting out of the cube was getting more intense and the cube itself was glowing a bright white. The symbols and carvings on the statues and around the altar began to shine as did the top of the altar. "What the hell," Brett said as all the little cracks and impact marks in the floor began to glow, revealing what it truly was.

A map of the galaxy.

_What the hell did we do,_ Brett wondered. _What's going on?_ His eyes widened as a convex cone of blue radiance extended upward all the way to the ceiling. _Okay, time to hit the desk and check out of this place._

He turned, started running for the stairs and shouted orders to the backup team. "Go! Get out of here! Evacuate now!"

"We're outta here!"

Brett was halfway up the stairs when another surge of power reached out and grabbed him. Suddenly immobilized, he watched as bluish white energy crackled all around his body. Desperate, he tried to take a step forward, but he couldn't even lift his leg. It was like every one of his joints had suddenly locked, freezing his body in the position it was in. He continued to struggle against whatever was holding him but how matter hard he tried, he couldn't move or break free.

"Captain!" one of his Delta comrades yelled as he rushed back to him. He grabbed Brett by the arm and tried to wrestle him free of whatever had grabbed him. But the sizzling energy would not release him. "I've got you Captain!" the Delta trooper screamed.

"It's pulling me back!" Brett yelled as he kept trying to break free but to no avail.

_Your true destiny will now be realized, noble warrior._

Again with those damned voices? Why the hell didn't they just leave him alone?

The other members of the backup team started shooting at the cube but their bullets bounced off an unseen force field. One sizzled a little too close to the Delta trooper trying to free Brett. "Cease fire!" he yelled. "Cease fire damn it!"

The energy pulled Brett back a little more and he slipped backwards, yet grabbed on to his comrade's hand. Although the Delta trooper tried desperately to pull Brett away from the energy that had him, it was no use. Brett yelled in frustration as he felt his strength start to give way.

"Hang on Captain!" the Delta trooper pleaded.

But Brett figured he was a goner and, therefore, made a fateful decision. "Go! Get out of here!"

"Not without you Captain!"

"Goddammit Sergeant, that's an order! Get the hell out of here!" The pull of the energy finally became too much and he lost his grip. The Delta trooper fell over backwards and Brett was yanked back through the air, into the cone of light and finally into the altar, even though he fought with everything he could the whole way. "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The Delta trooper sat up just in time to see Brett disappear into the altar. "CAPTAIN HUDSON! CAPTAIN HUDSON!"

The lightning suddenly stopped cracking. The map of the galaxy went dark. The cone of light above the altar disappeared. The dark blue cube that had been hovering above the altar faded and turned to gray stone. It fell from the point where it had been hovering, bounced off the altar and landed on the floor. It rested there for a few seconds before turning to gray dust and disappearing. Everything was deathly quiet and the remaining Delta Force operators in the inner shrine watched in silence, stunned by what they had just witnessed.

Brett Hudson was gone.


End file.
